


Alley Cat Shuffle

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [8]
Category: Cowboy Bebop, Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Be Careful What You Wish For, Bounty Hunters, Class Differences, Cruise Ships, Dancing and Singing, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Swing Dancing, Syndicate Era (Cowboy Bebop), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 82,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: When Faye drags Spike into a covert op at an elite couples dancing contest the team get swept up in the competition while trying to flush their target. Will they manage to keep their true intentions under wraps from the contestants, or will they Waltz Tango Foxtrot into a swinging disaster? How bad can things possibly get?





	1. Session 1

_ **Alley Cat Shuffle** _

_ **Session 1** _

Spike flipped the top card over and barely glanced at the Queen of Hearts. With a quick flick of his wrist he dropped it onto the King of Hearts and moved on to the next card in the deck. Hardly a high stakes game of Solitaire, after all he'd already cleared the deck three times today. No complaints on his end, he'd firmly planted himself on the couch for the past month and a half they'd been floating on Ganymede. The boredom remained a welcome change from their last misadventure. It still boggled his mind what kind of a lunatic would plunk a bunch of robotic dinosaurs on a jungle terraformed asteroid and have the gall to call the damn thing an 'amusement park'. At least no one would ever inadvertently end up getting chewed to bits on there again. Faye's missile assured that.

He glanced at the next card, but it didn't have time to register. A startled yell shot Spike to his feet. He drew his gun, racing down the hallway towards Jet's Bonsai room. Rounding the corner he prepared himself for some invasion, even though that seemed unlikely that deep in the bowels of the ship. Ein should have barked at an intruder … right? Ehh, maybe not. That mutt would be more likely to offer a squeaky ball for a game of a fetch. Still, everyone was a bit on edge after the park fiasco, and though he was loath to admit it, he was no exception. Spike wasn't at all prepared for what he spied at the end of the Jericho's gun sight.

Jet leaned back against the far wall, his work glove on, the clippers on the floor. He panted each breath. Locked in Spike's gun sight a pair of tiny robotic eyes blinked at him. Red streaks on its metallic feather plates as it peered through the miniature trees. The diminutive robotic compsognathus crouched in the mico-forest on the shelves. Humorously it looked close to the proper scale if the thing where an allosaurus. It delivered a little chirrup. And in succession five more of the now color coded little monsters emerged from the trees.

Spike lowered the gun and tucked it away with a barely suppressed laugh. “Well, what do you know. She figured it out.”

Jet, now beet red, thrust a finger at the invaders. “Get out of there before you break something.”

They followed the motion of his finger, the chicken sized constructs chirping and squeaking in excitement. But none of them left.

Leaning against the door frame, Spike snickered. “You know, you did this to yourself.”

“I did not.” Jet bent down and picked up the clippers. One of the compys used Jet's back as a platform to get down to the ground. “Hey!” But it was too fast for Jet to catch it as it scampered out of the room. A moment later the full series of five skittered out of the miniature foliage and dropped to dart down the hall.

Spike watched the last one leave before he remarked dryly, “Not the way I remember it. First you let Ed keep them. Yesterday you asked her what she was going to do once we leave Ganymede and her little pack can't charge their solar cells on the flight deck without floating off into space, since the bridge won't work because windows block too much.” He raised a shoulder. “Looks like she found a solution in your growth lights, pard.”

Jet made a fist and grunted before dropping his face into a palm with a groan.

“Come on, it's not like they're stealing. And they do fit on the shelves.”

Jet tossed his glove on the table and joined Spike in the hall. The two wandered toward the living room. “I really should stop letting things stay here.”

Spike whistled an idle tune, hands in his pockets.

Ein padded on by with his food dish hanging from his mouth.

Jet sighed, “Spike, did you feed him?”

“Nope. Ed was supposed to, but something tells me she's distracted.”

They entered the living room where Ed sat on the floor now surrounded by the six hacked compys, all of them lined in front of her making a ruckus. Spike resumed his place on the couch and kicked his feet up onto the table.

Jet folded his arms and eyed Ed. “You forgot something.”

She glanced up, Ein danced in a circle and dropped his dish with a CLACK. Immediately she darted into the kitchen and returned with a can, turning the opener on her way back. She upended the can and emptied it into his dish with a plop.

Ein didn't even sniff, he just dug right in, plowing through the feast with satisfied growls.

Meanwhile Ed turned back to little compys. “Huŏ.” The red streaked one perked up. “Up.” She pointed on the table. The compy hissed at her, Ed pointed again, a bit firmer. The compy grumbled and then leapt up, perched on the edge like a robotic reptilian bird. Ed cheered and clapped her hands.

Jet cocked his head. “Are you … training them?”

Spike chuckled and cupped his hands behind his head. “Someone hasn't been paying attention.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jet scratched his chin. “They're trainable?”

“Very.” Spike's grin widened. He glanced at the one marked with black stripes. “Yo, Shuĭ.” In a couple leaps the compy perched on the arm of the couch and cocked its head. “Fetch me a beer.”

Shuĭ hopped down and darted into the kitchen. Less than a minute later he came back with a cold beer bottle gripped in his jaws and held it out to Spike. He took the bottle and held out the top. Shuĭ's teeth hooked the cap.

Spike gave it a twist, popping the cap off with a hiss and held the bottle up. “Thanks.” The compy headbutted the bottle with a little ting, like one might a toast, then hopped up on the couch and perched on the back, right over Spike's shoulder. Shuĭ never made a peep.

Jet's jaw hung a touch loose. “They have names … and you taught one to fetch you beer.”

He gestured at Shuĭ, “You want one?”

Jet muttered into his hand. “I don't believe this. Do they all have names?”

In a handstand, Ed pointed to each one with her toes. “Qi, Shuĭ, Mù, Huŏ, Jīn, and Tŭ.” As their names were called out they chirruped in order; gold, black, blue, red, white, and yellow.

It took a moment, Jet murmuring the names as they indeed sounded familiar. Like terms, like elements. Like water, wood, fire, metal, earth … he fixed Spike with a stare. “What have you been teaching her?”

Spike rested an elbow on the back of the couch, Shuĭ climbed up to perch on his bare forearm. “Relax Jet, it's just—”

“Ninja stuff!” Ed struck a pose, only it wasn't anything combative.

Jet recognized it right away as part of the many meditative routines he'd see Spike perform—particularly when he was stressed and didn't want to talk about why. He shifted his gaze to his partner. Spike gave a little grin and took a sip. Jet grumbled, “As if I don't have enough damage to deal with, now you wanna teach the kid to break shit?”

“Yeeesss!” Ed slipped into another non-combat pose. “Hyaaaaawww! Ninja cow-girl!”

Spike almost spit his beer.

“I'm warning you, Spike. I don't like you teaching her.”

At his feet Jīn, the white spotted one, crept around the table. His eyes focused on the dented beer cap. In one swift dash Jīn covered the distance and swiped it from the floor. But he wasn't unimpeded, the moment that Huŏ closed in and tried to grab it a noisy tug of war errupted. With a savage kick Jīn knocked his opponent over and hissed carting the cap over toward Ein's empty food dish. The compy squatted in the dish and too a swipe at Ein, claiming a defensible position.

Confused, Ein backed up. Before offering a yawn and padding away.

Shuĭ watched the action from the perch on Spike's arm, still crocked on the back of the couch.

Jet's eyebrows rode high. “What just happened?”

Spike pointed with the bottle. “You'll wanna watch your stuff around that white speckled one, he's more of a clepto than Faye.”

As if Spike spoke of the devil, Faye rolled back the main door and entered with a couple of bags in her arms. She discarded them on the landing and sauntered right past the fiasco on the floor. Untying the sleeves of her over-shirt she deposited it on the chair on her way across the room towards Jet. “Am I interrupting?”

Jet offered her a noncommittal shrug.

She held out her hand to him. “Good, then we need to get back to practicing. Ed … ” Faye did a double-take at the compys, staring at each one as they bobbed their now marked heads up at her. “Ed, are they wearing my nail-polish?”

One bottle after the next popped up into the air and Faye caught them. “Ed borrowed these. Now the peep-peeps are pretty and we can tell them apart.”

Faye silently fumed, evidence by her hands closing on the six bottles. She set them on the table and a little too congenially addressed the oblivious Ed. “Some of these are limited edition, like this gold fleck, that you just glopped on your little mons... errr friends. These are for nails, human nails. I thought we covered that the last time you used them on Ein.”

A soft dog-whine echoed through the corridor. Ed just continued to grin.

After a long, pointless stare, Faye set the polish on the table. “Never mind, just cue the music.”

With her toe, Ed clicked the button on her computer and jazz music filled the _Bebop_. Jet took Faye's hand in an awkward grip and pensively placed a hand on her back.

She reached down and moved it. “Here. Alright … no, wrong foot. Jet, the other foot. Not there!”

Through half-lidded eyes, Spike watched as the most physically mismatched couple in the history of humanity painfully murdered the art of swing dance. Poor Jet second-guessed every movement which led to him stepping on Faye's feet more than once in the midst of her frustrated directions. It was embarrassing, and a little unnerving to see Jet so uncertain of himself. Besides, the guy had next to no rhythm.

Shuĭ glanced at Spike. He plucked the little creature off his arm, set the bottle in the Shuĭ's grasp, “hold my beer,” and crossed the room.

When Jet attempted to swing Faye out, Spike grabbed her out-flung wrist and in a neat flick spun her into a hip-to-hip embrace. Their faces ended up inches from one another, she stared up as he asked, “Mind if I cut in?”

The shock of Faye's face thrilled him. She looked as if to speak, but before she could, Spike launched into a rapid swing step pattern. Using momentum he spun Faye around the room fast enough her headband flew off, leaving her hair free-flying as he wiped her into a Lindy-hop in just a small taste of what he could really do. Flipping her legs up into the air just shy of a hand-stand stall, he dropped her down in a guided angle that swept underneath him. He neatly hopped from one leg to the other as she passed through like a human jump rope. He brought her upright and ended with a back dip so deep, Faye's short hair brushed the deck.

Not even winded, Spike stared down into her wide-eyes. Her fingers gripped his shoulder as if afraid of falling. She bleated, “Spike—you know how dance?”

He brought her fully upright and released her. Sitting back on the arm of the couch, he lit a cigarette before he answered. “Yeah. Dancing is all about rhythm. It's a lot like fighting, only you're not _supposed_ to hit stuff. Really, it was just good practice.”

Faye glanced back at Jet, who looked equally stunned. However he just shrugged, another section of Spike's past he hadn't bothered to share. Faye gasped, “When?”

Spike took a good long drag, letting the smoke linger in the air. “One of my favorite haunts during my syndicate days was the Skeleton Key, an old jazz bar. My buddy Dizzy was the piano player and singer for an eight piece band. I had quite the rep as an alley cat down at that club.”

Faye tapped her chin in clear confusion.

“Stray dancer. In other words I didn't come attached. The kittens tended to fight over me for their dance partner. Man, those girls could get possessive.” He chuckled. “Started more than one fight from a jealous boyfriend. I always got my workout, one way or another.”

Nibbling on her lip, Faye's eyes hardened. “Change of plans, Jet. Looks like I'll be taking Spike instead.”

Spike sat up a little straighter. “Say what?” She hadn't insulted him, she was using his name. What was she up to?

Jet drew a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Thank heavens. I was getting really worried about pulling this gig off.”

“What gig?” Spike had a terrible feeling. He eyed Faye as she hunted down her headband.

She made a flourish of putting it back on before fixing him with what should have been a provocative look over her shoulder. To the suspicious Spike it was nothing more than another of her empty postures intended to bend a man to her will. “We have a bounty to flush.”

Jet made a gun with his fingers and fired it off at Spike, “Hey, pard, that's what you get for showing off.”

Spike folded his arms across his chest. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Ed killed the music and punched up the files on the screen. Two very familiar faces popped up. Ivanhoe and Uhrikha Bruusikhov, a husband and wife team wanted as hackers and info-brokers.

Spike's glare traveled up to Jet, who evaded the accusation. “That's the lead I handed off to you cause you know I hate lame chases involving hackers.”

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, considering that lead came from the plastic surgeon's assistant, I mean, I did a bit of looking. Before they left his office they murdered the surgeon and deleted the files so no one knows their new faces. The assistant was desperate to find the schmucks who killed his boss.”

“That's not the issue. Why does _she_ have it?”

Jet evaded again, “Ehhh... well … because... ”

Faye stepped in front of Spike and grinned at him. A grin he did not like. Was that a scheme brewing behind her eyes? “I think you might be interested in this after all.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing could interest me in abandoning my quality time with this couch.”

“You remember that tidbit in the tip? The assistant over heard their next gig was the Ihy and the Golden Calf? Well, turns out the Golden Calf is a first class private star cruise ship.”

Spike didn't even blink.

Faye leaned forward. “The Ihy happens to be the Ihy Intergalactic Dance Competition to be held on board that very ship. Word is the marks are going to use the competition as cover. But I'm going to need a dance partner good enough to keep me in the contest.”

Spike still didn't blink.

Faye's coy grin increased, she was inches from his ear as she whispered, “It will be catered by a galaxy class chef with all the finest food and a fully stocked exclusive open bar, all covered by the entry fee. Which means—you will have full access to cuisine you've—Never. Even. Heard. Of.”

The cigarette quivered between Spike's lips. He swallowed, composure loosening. His eyebrow twitched before he locked eyes with her. When would he ever get this opportunity again? If all he had to do was a bit of dancing … after all this was Faye's gig. The true legwork would be hers. How bad could this get? And then there was all that exclusive food.

Shit!

So, she needed his help. Well then, there was going to be price. After all, he knew what that damn bottle she'd hocked on the auction block had sold for. She still owed Spike back from a previous _un-requested loan_. “Fine. I'll do it. But, you're paying—for everything!”

With a victorious smile, Faye adjusted his tie. “Deal.”

Spike suddenly regretted agreeing, that seemed too easy. He'd expected her to suggest they go dutch.

But she ignored him and leaned over Ed. “Ok Ed, time to work your magic and establish us a couple of aliases.”

Ed started to chant, “Couple double, dancing pair, aliases hide in plain air.”

Faye placed a finger to her lips. “And we'll need to come up with a convincing last name.”

Spike abandoned the arm of the couch, one eyebrow raised. _Wait a minute … last __**name**__?_ “You mean names, right?”

“Oh no,” she mused. “Just one.” She fixed him with a wink. “This competition is exclusively for elite married couples.”

“WHAT?”


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

The practice music thrummed onward in a punishing rhythm. Spike kept his focus locked tight on the sensations traveling down his arm. He swept down and under, his hands securing the absolute perfect balance before he let the momentum carry up. He had to concentrate much more than he'd anticipated. But because he had …

Like clockwork the weight settled into the cradle of balance...

Until it didn't.

Faye let out a shriek and violently shifted in his grip. With the whole weight of a full grown woman squirming onto his right hand, only intended to brace her lower back, Spike struggled like hell to compensate. He swung her down in a sloppy save, rather than dropping her onto the living room floor's metallic decking.

Faye rounded on him, her fist flew above his head as he hastily ducked. “You lecherous asshole!”

Heaving from the effort of the dodge, Spike came back upright with clenched fists at his sides. “What did I do _this_ time?”

“Your hand. You put it there on purpose, you pervert!”

Spike's chest rose and fell several times before he forced a mockery of a calm tone to his voice. “Of course it was on purpose. That's where it has to be for the lift.”

With her hands on her hips, she leaned toward him. “Not that close, buster!”

“It's physics, Faye. Unless you want to go tits over ass, when I lift you I have to account for these.” He reached forward intending to just gesture. But somehow he misjudged and his palm cupped something soft. He opened his eyes in shock and just barely managed to backpedal out of the way of her attempted slap. The air whooshed by his cheek swirling on the eddies left by her flying finger tips.

If anything that miss left her more livid. “So you're saying it's my breasts fault.”

“Yes.”

Her face grew redder, rage boiling over in her jade eyes.

Spike quickly caught his mistake, backing away. “No! I mean no!” He held his hands out, well away from her. “Look, Faye, it's one of the required lifts in several rounds, whether you like it or not. The physics determine where your center of gravity is. I can't break those laws.”

Faye folded her arms. “Find another spot for that hand!”

“Where?”

Across the room, Ed queued up over a dozen videos of dance routines and played them side by side. “Umm, Faye-Faye. Spike-person is right. Look where the hands are. Tee hee!”

Faye stared at the videos, her jaw tightening as they proved the point. He saw her intention to turn on him and chose to walk away. “That's it. I'm taking a break from this shit.”

To his relief, Shuĭ stood on the arm of the couch with a beer bottle waiting. Spike tore it out of his mouth, and cracked the cap off. Muscle sore, he stormed toward the door, passing Jet on the way.

*

Burdened with a load of groceries Jet arrived back at the Bebop eager to get down to the kitchen. The moment he opened the door, he took a step backward as Spike stormed out, sweat glistening on his brow and not even looking where he was going.

One glimpse into the living room to spy Faye leaning over Ed's computer analyzing dance moves for the eight-hundredth time was all it took. He heaved a sigh, knowing full well what had transpired—again. The precise details were irrelevant.

They were truly water and oil fire together. Setting the bags down, he once more reveled in no longer being the pawn in Faye's plan. He approached Faye and peered over her shoulder. “So … let me guess. Training is done for today?”

“He'll need to find another way to do this lift. I don't care what Spike says.” The heat radiating around her wasn't purely from the practice.

Jet shook his head as he watched the footage of the other dancers. Immediately he could see where the problem lie. One hand balancing the weight in an overhead lift, and that palm got rather intimate! And yet Jet knew Spike enough to recognize when he'd pulled a smooth one. That was **not** what he'd seen. No, that was Spike one smart-mouthed comment from launching Faye out the airlock into outer space without her space suit. Jet eyed Faye, “You know what I think. I think you're just going to have to suck it up and trust the guy you all but begged to be your partner.”

Faye spun, her cheeks flushed. “I did not beg him! And it doesn't matter. Dancing is a civilized sport.”

With a shrug, Jet glimpsed the costumes on the screen, some more skin than fabric, and the hand placements in several of the moves. He'd seen Spike fight enough to know how leverage worked. Stood to reason if Spike could hi-jack an opponent's balance, he could manipulate a dance partner, a cooperative one might make his task simpler. Jet chuckled at the visuals on the screen. “You might have to lower your standards for this. Besides, you owe Spike the trust he deserves to get you through this. Seriously, the guy knows what he's doing if you just let him do it. Finding and manipulating the center of balance at speed is what he does, it's the core of his training.”

Turning her cold shoulder to Jet she tapped her foot.

Jet groaned. “I'm serious, Faye. Are you truly ready for what this con entails? Once you two are on that ship an outburst like this could blow your cover wide open.”

“Couples argue,” she snapped, but Jet caught the hesitation.

“They do, but you're not actually a couple. And you're going to have to work together without us as immediate back-up.” _More importantly, without us to intervene._

Faye rolled her shoulder. “I'm a grown woman, I can handle myself!”

Jet turned away from her, rubbing the back of his neck, concerned that he was about to lose two partners to this scheme. “Just go easier on Spike and remember you asked him to do this. It's not his mark and you're already asking a lot of him.”

Faye twitched. “That lazy lout isn't stepping up properly.”

“He isn't? Exactly how many hours have you put him through the steps? Spike's a quick study. He's already managed to pick how many critical maneuvers in such a short time?” Jet knew full well what a slave-driver she'd been. “How many times have you tried to hit him in the process? How much can you demand in three days?”

At last she turned back to Jet, her eyes rimmed with worry. “But the entry round to make it on the ship is tomorrow evening.”

Jet spread his hands wide. “Than you'll have to trust him.” Jet turned and left her standing in the middle of the living room, dreading his next task. After all, just last night he had intercepted Spike out on the flight deck bristling with irritation. He'd taken the time to gather stones perfect for throwing from the bay's shore onto the deck. A rather large pile subjected to his pent up temper. And throw them Spike did, aiming at a distant buoy where they clanged against it before plunking back into the dark water. At least it was rocks this time, Jet cringed when he recalled the time Spike had been irately firing off the Jericho into the bay until the cops stopped by. Luckily they'd been old acquaintances, and Jet had been able to get off with only a warning. Last night Spike's patience clearly had grown rice-paper thin. His acidic rant filled the next hour punctuated by the collisions against the poor buoy. At least Jet could offer a sympathetic ear … now.

If she'd already gotten under his skin this deep, what would Spike do on the cruise ship? That was a question he didn't even want to ask as he wandered out to the flight deck.

What Spike wouldn't do for a fancy meal, the chance for his stomach to hi-jack his brain … for once it seemed they might have found the line on that particular motivation. Spike stood at the edge, sipping a beer and staring out into the lights sparkling on the bay. The darkened water reflected the faint outline of Jupiter filling the sky. The wind off the water caught Spike's jacket and tie, wiping them up and around.

Jet joined him, arms crossed over his chest. Staring out into the city lights so familiar to him from his youth, he took a deep breath. “I'm proud of you, kid.”

Spike barely shifted. His reply was more of a noncommital grunt.

Jet eyed him. “The fact that you haven't hit her—”

“Any bruising would show with the clothing she wears.” Without looking from the horizon Spike took a sip of the beer.

Jet jerked upright at that thought. His eyes widened. “That never occurred to me.”

He shrugged. “Apparently that notion hasn't occurred to Faye either, as she keeps taking shots at my face. At this rate she's gonna blow our cover by giving me a shiner before we set foot on that ship.”

Jet placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is her deal, kid. You're just riding shotgun.”

Spike sighed and took another swig. “Yup, except without the shotgun. Guess that gentlemen aren't supposed to carry firearms. So, unarmed it is.”

Good, it seemed he'd already managed to rein it in on his own. Maybe there was a chance this would work. “Who knows, if you two can't pass the elimination round, you may not have to go through with this charade.”

Finishing his beer, Spike gave the empty bottle a rather savage spin out into the bay where it shattered against the dented buoy with a resounding CLANG! He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I can only hope that's what happens. I'm not real thrilled about this plan of hers.”

“Oh, I bet you'll be able to pull this off. You've done just fine among the snobs in the casinos, well … until you start winning too much. But there shouldn't be any of that on board. Just watch the sarcasm.” Slowly Jet realized the depth of that request. His shoulders slumped. “You're right, the odds are pretty bad.”

Spike lit a cigarette. With both hands back in his pockets he looked up into the sky. “_Now _you're getting it.”

*

A voice called his name, a touch too sweetly. Spike rolled deeper into the couch. Was it a dream? Only darkness danced behind his eyelids. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut whoever it was would go away. Occasionally that worked on Jet. A hand pressed against his shoulder. Faye's voice intruded a little louder, but maintained its saccharine tone.

Spike cracked open an eye to find Faye's smiling face. Yup, that was real. He rolled over and faced the couch, grumbling. “Faye, let's take the morning off. We've practiced enough.”

She walked around the back of the couch, resting her chin on the cushion. “We're not practicing today. There's something else we need to do.”

He huffed a sigh. “What now?”

She reached down and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up into a seated position and studying his hand with an appraising eye. Her fingers ran through his hair and snagged in the mass, tugging at the roots. A wrinkle of distaste crossed her features before she banished it, trying once more to seem overly pleasant. She pursed her lips and nodded. “Mmm hmm. I picked precisely the right place to fix all this.”

Spike eyed her as she padded around the couch and brought him to his feet. Her fingers caressed the wrinkled lapel of his suit, traced the thin black tie. She snapped a nod. “Oh yes, we should have enough time if we hurry.”

As she started to pull Spike toward the door, Jet peered out from the kitchen curiously. Spike raised an eyebrow as he was tugged along. Jet cleared his throat, “Where are you two off to before breakfast? Registration isn't until early this evening.”

Faye waved from the top landing. “It's time to get Spike ready. I'm taking him shopping.”

Panic seized Spike, he grabbed onto the door frame. “Jet, help!” His grip didn't hold. The last thing he saw was the pity in Jet's eyes.


	3. Session 3

_ **Session 3** _

Ganymede's higher end shopping district was a foreign territory to Spike as he trudged along in Faye's unyielding grip. More accustomed to the pawn shops and generally more practical districts, the lavish excess displayed in the shop windows grew into an ever increasing push for attention. Bag shops, trendy fashion boutiques, jewelry and shoe stores, windows packed with fancy gadgets for made up problems … it assaulted his senses. After all, a suit was a suit, right? A feeling of apprehension gripped him as he realized it had been several blocks since a shop window had sported anything close to the suit style he lived in.

At long last, Faye paused in front of a gold gilded shop with a striped awning. The window painted in fancy letters, _ L _ _is Doré Salon_.

Spike put the brakes on. “Uh, no. I don't think so, Faye.”

She held firm, wrapping her arm around his. “Oh yes, I do think so. Arrangements have already been made. Now get in there.” Opening the door she thrust him through, once inside she locked the door and grinned up at Spike. “In case you're considering running.”

He stepped away from the threat in her eyes, entirely out of his depth in this place where the scents of perfume overpowered him, fancy clothing and accessories sparkled on the racks, all of it bereft of any practical function.

A woman in a business suit hastened up, heading straight to Faye and grasping her hands with a fawning smile. “Ms. Valentine! What a pleasure it is to see you again. Everything is ready as you requested. All we need do is finish those last minute final details we discussed.”

Faye openly relished the lavish display. “Madame Cygne, always attentive to detail. I knew your people would be up the task, monumental as it is.”

Cygne waved a hand. “Nonsense. This was such a fine event to plan for. We're so excited to take part! I think you'll adore the dresses. We are quite familiar with your taste here. And now for your associate?” She turned and the smile flickered as she took in Spike head to toe and muttered, “Oh my, this truly will be a complete overhaul.”

Suddenly self conscious, Spike looked anywhere but into the steely appraisal of those eyes. It was made worse when Cygne started to circle him reminiscent of a hungry dog picking out the weakness of its prey. Forced to hold his reflexes to strike in check, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched her out the corner of his eyes.

She murmured to herself, shaking her head. “Well, first things first, we need to double check the measurements before the final fitting. We'll start there, then while they hem we can address … ” her hand waved up and down, “everything else.”

Spike half lidded his eyes at Faye. But before he could say anything, Cygne dragged him back into the shop with Faye in tow studying her own fingernails and listing off possible colors. So lost in the twists and turns by the time they reached a room with a pedestal and three mirrors, Spike knew he couldn't possibly make a mad dash out. He didn't stand a chance of finding his way through this labyrinth of satin and lace.

Cygne waved a hand, “I'll go and update the staff.” She vanished the way they had come.

A man poked his head through the curtain. “Aha, you're here. Fantastic! I'll be right with you. Go ahead and get ready.”

Before Spike could even ask what he meant, the man was gone. But to his surprise, he turned to find Faye sitting in the corner, hands folded on her lap. When Spike didn't move she offered matter-of-factly, “He means to strip.”

Spike's eyes widened. “In front of you?”

“Oh stuff it, Spike. It's not like I haven't seen you in your boxers before. Honestly, this'll go a lot faster if you just cooperate. You can't go anywhere near a cruise like this looking like a scuzzbag.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Soon enough, he stood in his boxers and undershirt beside the rumpled pile of his suit with a highly amused Faye in the corner. Not sure if that was worse, or the fact that his image stared back at him in triplicate looking a might bit awkward, he folded his arms over his chest. _All I have to do is be her dance partner. What the hell does all this have to do with anything?_

The man returned with a tape measure around his neck and a notepad. He walked around Spike looking him up and down. “Mmm hmm. Well, Ms. Valentine, it does appear we've gotten close to the proper measurements from the photos you sent us. Those proved helpful, indeed.”

Spike stiffened. “Photos? What photos?”

The man continued, “I wasn't sure they would work. After all, usually our clients are standing up. We've never worked from a sleeping posture before.”

Spike glared daggers at Faye. “You photographed me while I was sleeping?”

She completely ignored his remark. “I'm so glad, Fernando. I was hoping that would do the trick enough to get started.”

Fernando started to run the tape measure along various points, marking down the numbers as he went. “Nothing off the rack would have worked for these proportions. But the stylish cuts we've selected should really flatter him, while providing plenty of movement.”

It felt strange, being chatted about as if he wasn't even there. Spike stewed as he stood there, rather exposed.

“I can't wait to see what you whipped up.”

“Wait til you see the number Cygne worked up for you. You'll be absolutely stunning.” He ran the last measurement, jotted down the number and waved a hand. “Ok, you can get dressed. Maxine will be waiting for you. She's got the full crew on in the other room. By the time they finish, I'll be ready for the fitting.”

In a flash Fernando vanished behind the curtain. Spike picked up his pants, eyeing the curtain suspiciously. “What just happened? Who the hell is Maxine?”

“Relax.” Faye stood by another curtain. “I know where we're headed next.”

Spike bit his tongue and finished dressing. He followed Faye through the curtain and down the hall to a mirrored room with a couple of chairs, washing bowls, sheers, combs and more items Spike had never seen before—except the nail polish. Those bottles he knew. How many shades of red were there in the galaxy? A rather large group had gathered in the room, hands folded before them, they smiled the moment Faye entered and embraced one of them, a woman with bright fuchsia tipped hair. “Maxine!”

“So soon again? You didn't wreck your nails again, girl?”

Faye splayed them out. “No. But I brought you another challenge.” She extended a hand toward Spike.

Maxine charged across the room to him. “Hands.”

Spike lifted them a bit. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands up staring at the nails and pursing her lips. “My God, what do you think I am, a miracle worker?” She smiled and winked back at Faye. “You know I am. That's why you're here.” She snapped her fingers and the staff went to their stations, divided into teams. Spike noticed one chair had twice the staff of the other. “We have a limited amount of time. Let's get this done.”

Maxine tugged Spike towards the higher staffed chair and deposited him in it. This suddenly felt like the losing end of an interrogation or maybe an execution. Maxine loomed over him, sticking her fingers into Spike's hair, she lifted her hand until it got caught on the snarls. “Mmm mmm mmm. You ever heard of a comb, boy? Think we might need a weed wacker to tame this.”

Narrowing his eyes, Spike remarked, “You're not cutting it, if that's what you're thinking.”

Faye glanced over from her chair where they had already draped her in an apron. “Just neaten that's rats nest up, Maxine. I would have liked him to have more than just a trim, but … ”

“Maybe you should have asked!” That ended in a startled yelp as the next thing he knew they swung the chair around, lowered it, and started to wet down his hair. Maxine and her crew worked swiftly scrubbing and rinsing Spike's hair. In no time, he was back upright with a pair of stylists fighting to comb down his drenched hair and snip it.

Once that was well underway, another group descended on his hands with a large tray at the ready loaded with bowls of strange liquids, and what looked like an assortment of torture devices. Pulled in two directions, Spike yanked his hands back the moment a file gripped into his callouses.

At the protests of the hand crew, Faye cleared her throat, her gun aimed at Spike from her chair. From beneath the towel wrapping her hair she eyed him with a promise. “Hands back down. Let them work.”

Spike heaved a sigh and let the woman take his hand.

She eyed his nails and cringed, “Monika, we're gonna need the extra course files. Get the power buffer, and maybe the angle grinder?”

Spike tried once more to make an escape, but the tangle of hands on him made it impossible to move more than an inch.

The flurry of activity proved ceaseless, the staff chatting as they alternated between soaking his hands in fluids and using power tools on each of Spike's neglected nails buffing them to a smooth, pristine shine. He had no clue how they'd managed to achieve that, save that Maxine had taken over the brunt of the work on herself. Meanwhile the pair working on his hair had trimmed it fairly even while maintaining the length, one glanced down at Maxine. “What do you think, should we dye it black?”

Spike shot bolt upright. “Absolutely not!”

With a wave of her hand, Maxine resumed the high velocity buffing on the final few nails. “We're short on time, girls. Just style it.”

Spike exhaled at the near miss. Already it was hard looking in the mirror. A second later one of the women glopped a viscous goo into his hair and started combing it back. That section made a vain attempt to spring up. She added more and more by sections, forcing the unruly locks into submission, until Spike's hair had been slicked back, just the ends curling up in defiance near the back of his neck. His typically disheveled hair, now tamed as much as it could be.

From over on Faye's side she waved her freshly painted nails in the air pointing at the glittering tray Cygne held in front of her. The woman grinned. “Ahh yes, that will be perfect. I'll add that to your selections.” From his vantage point Spike glimpsed a flash of silver metal lifted from the tray and placed into a box.

Maxine held his nails up, examining each one. “Mmm mmm mmm! I **am** a miracle worker. Smooth as satin. And no more callouses. Who would have thought that possible.”

_Who would've thought that necessary. _Spike kept his thoughts to himself, but only just barely.

Maxine patted his hand and met his eyes. “She was right, you don't talk much. You shy, boy?”

He exhaled just as Fernando called from the edge of the room. “Ready!” Unceremoniously, Spike found himself thrust back into the dressing room, leaving Faye behind.

Without a word, Fernando proceeded to dress Spike in a black tuxedo with an emerald green satin vest, a black satin ribbon up each outer pant leg. The black satin accents continued on the lapels, but they were subtle. A pair of high-shined black leather shoes completed it. Fernando smoothed things out, tugging the hems for the final check, and gave a quick nod of approval as he stood back. “This should be perfect.”

Spike heaved a sigh. The tux actually allowed him to move. Of course he had to get used to the bow tie that pulled his collar tighter than his usual thin straight. He glanced at it, sitting atop his old suit, and felt like a traitor.

Fernando disappeared, and a moment later he returned with another suit. Spike cocked his head. This one was white. As he laid it out, Fernando's smile grew. “Ms. Valentine's special request, and my masterpiece. If you will, Sir.”

Soon enough Spike turned to face the mirror dressed in a white three piece suit with solid black satin lapels and obsidian buttons, each one the shape of tiny spade. A relief-carved silver lapel pin glittered in the shape of a stylized S. The crisp dress shirt topped it off with a black bow tie, and not the cheap clip on type, real like the one with black tux. The vest was a muted gray brocade shot through with a white threaded pattern that resembled ripples on the water. As much as he hated to admit it, it fit perfectly.

But the man staring back at him was a stranger. Those were his eyes, hazed in confusion. The rest befit a man of another class entirely. A voice intruded his thoughts, _To be taken seriously you have to take yourself seriously. Show some self respect. We aren't thugs. We are men who mean business. True businessmen. A sharp image is intimidating._ An ember kindled deep within. The moment he noted it, Spike fought to suppress it, knowing full well where it came from. He took a deep breath, banishing the memory that would do nothing but threaten the success of this bounty hunt.

Whether Spike liked it or not, he had to fill this shell of the man before him.

Still captivated by the image, Spike startled when Faye slid her hand on his shoulder. He turned to find her draped in a fitted satin sheath dress, dyed in a blue umbre light at the top spilling to a deep midnight blue dotted with sparkling gems like stars. She wore white opera gloves with an ermine stole, complete with the black tail tips, covering her shoulders left bare from the halter fit of her gown. Diamonds and sapphires sparkled from her necklace, earrings, and a clip that pulled her shoulder-length hair up on one side.

Taking out a bottle she pulled out the stopper and dabbed the oily cologne on either side of Spike's neck. An earthy aroma filled the air. Giving it a sniff she smiled, “Oh yes, _Autumn Rain_ is definitely your scent.” Capping the bottle, she handed it to an attendant. “Only one detail left.” She picked up his left hand and slid a simple silver ring onto Spike's ring finger. “There we go. The perfect couple.”

Spike stared down at the ring, unaccustomed to wearing anything on his hands. He fixated on their reflections in the mirror, his image stiff and far too upright. He couldn't escape feeling like a trophy, pose and all.

Faye caressed his hands. “So soft, like they've never seen a day of work. And look those nails! Wow, Maxine really earned every woolong. You look like a perfect gentleman. Well, my good deed is done for the day.” She wandered off, her voice fading, “Oh Cygne, can you be a dear and have these delivered?”

Fanart drawn by Luck_Kazajian. :)

*

Feet kicked up on the table, Jet had been watching the news idly. That was until the door opened up and Faye sauntered in dressed to the nines hanging off the arm of a man in a white suit. Jet did a double-take.

Ed peered over the table and whistled. “Oooo, who's Faye-Faye's new beau? Ooo-la-la!”

Jet squinted, _can't be_. The overhead light caught the man's brown eyes. If Jet hadn't been seriously looking for it he would have missed it. The slight uneven glint of a synthetic eye. He almost leapt off the couch. “Spike?”

He looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard.

The transformation was unbelievable. Jet had seen Faye polish herself up before, but he'd never imagined what her skills could do if turned on Spike's casual style.

Ed perched on the table and silently _Wowed._ “Spike-person is a smooth criminal.”

Jet walked up the steps, past the beaming Faye, and shamelessly stared at Spike. Specifically fascinated by the hair. It was a few shades darker, likely from whatever was keeping it from its typical _mind-of-its-own_ state. “That is impressive. How is it staying like that?” He reached out to touch it.

Faye swatted his hand away. “Don't mess it up! It took almost a whole bottle of gel. And we have to be down at registration shortly.”

“Haha, Spike-o's a dandy! Never would have imagined this!” Jet burst into laughter, he shouldn't have been laughing at Spike's expense, but it proved too hard not to. The guy looked uptight enough to shatter. “I hope you bought a crate of that shit to make sure it holds for the whole cruise.”

Sauntering down into the living room, Faye deposited the matching clutch purse on the table and tugged off her gloves revealing a rather sizable diamond ring set in silver. “I picked up everything we'll need for starters. Even swimming suits for the pool. One never knows what information will be dropped poolside.”

Jet glanced at Spike, he couldn't help but mark the discomfort as Spike pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, sucking it down faster than normal.

Faye leaned over Ed. “You get it all done just like I told you?”

“Yup.” She tapped the computer and brought up their IDs on the screen. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling. Even got the records set up for the money trail. Faye-Faye's family trades in silks from Venus. And Mr. Spike Sterling,” Ed grinned up at him in this new state and took a photo from her goggles, uploading it onto Spike's profile, “is a trust fund baby from Mars!”

Jet watched as Spike continued to stare at the screen without offering a word. All he caught was a minute flinch at the final remark.

Faye looked over her shoulder. “My moment of genius. Don't worry about a thing, Spike. This way you don't have to be an expert on your _inherited_ fortune. All the trust fund babies I ever knew were clueless upstarts. So if you screw up and make a lude comment, no one will think anything of you.”

Spike blew out a lung full of smoke and stubbed out the spent cigarette. He lit another immediately.

Jet leaned over and whispered. “Don't worry, Ed has a little shock for her. The alias bank account has your name on it, pard. That might come in handy. Remember, it's her money you'll be spending in there.”

“Thanks, I think,” he whispered back.

Jet took another look and shook his head. “I'm impressed. You really clean up.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “This should have been you.”


	4. Session 4

_ **Session 4** _

Early evening light shown purple through the darkened windows of the rented stretch limo as it drove through the streets. In the back seat, Spike watched Ganymede's surroundings drift from the working dock district into the swankier ports. Fishing and hauling ships gave way to gilded space yachts. Not a speck of rust or sign of dents. These were the possessions of folk who discarded a vessel rather than repair a chip. 

The closer they got, the tighter Spike's collar felt, like a leash being pulled taut. He reached up and ran a finger under the starched white fabric, gently tugging against the bow tie.

Faye swatted his wrist with a gloved hand. “Knock it off. We're almost there.”

He eyed her, but lowered his hand trying to find a spot on his knee. The fidgeting didn't stop. This whole thing bothered him, and it wasn't merely that Faye's plans hadn't left time for a meal. His stomach grumbled, voicing its complaint about that.

A pair of white gloves dropped in his lap. “Put those on.” Faye pulled out lipstick and mirror.

Spike picked up the dress gloves and stared at them. He almost scratched his head before remembering the last time he'd tried that and Faye had spent the next fifteen minutes yowling about messing up his hair. Turning his hands, he studied the shine of his buffed nails. “So, go through all this to make it some inane definition of perfection and then just cover it all up.” He tugged the gloves on. “I really don't get the point.”

She capped the lipstick and tucked it back in her clutch, adjusting the stole. “You don't have to. Just do what I tell you.”

The ring on Spike's finger caught on the glove. He sighed as the light sparkled on the diamond ring now showcased over Faye's gloves. “Yes  _ dear, _ ” he muttered.

The limo pulled to a stop. “We're here.”

Spike reached for the door handle.

Faye grabbed his elbow. “What are you doing?”

He blinked at her.

“That's for the servant to do.” She clapped her hands twice. “Chauffeur!”

Outside the door, Jet stood aside, dressed in his best suit complete with the hat. He said nothing and just stood beside the black car stiffly.

Spike got out and took in the immense dance hall comprised of glass and stone. Long lines of people dressed to the nines stood in couples. At a rough count there were well over two hundred couples, not counting the assistants running around on the fringes, carrying things into the servant entrances. This operation just achieved the proverbial  _ needle in haystack _ status.

Faye cleared her throat. 

He glanced back to find her still seated, her hand reached out of the door, waiting. He raised an eyebrow.

Jet heaved a sigh and came around the door. He took her hand and helped her step out into the curb.

Faye averted her chin to Jet. “Deliver the bags I pointed out to you to the changing rooms, they'll tell you where. Keep the car nearby. We'll need a lift to the ship once the first round is finished.”

His expression soured a bit, but the brim of his hat hid it from anyone else watching, save Spike, as Faye latched onto Spike's arm and started toward the shortest line.

Before they left Jet's earshot, Spike leaned into her. “You're enjoying this a little too much.”

“It's the small things in life.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes.

“Like bossing your shipmates around. Ahhh!” Her fingernails dug into his arm, cutting off any further remark.

Through a clenched-jawed smile, she whispered, “Watch your mouth,  _ dear _ .”

_ This is going to be  ** so ** much fun.  _ Spike watched Jet lugging a few bags he had fetched from the trunk into the servant entrance off to the side. Was it too late to switch places?

The line seemed to take forever as they climbed the red carpeted stairway. One of the couples around here had to be the Bruusikhov's, or rather their new identities. Spike idly studied the array of excessively clad people. Too many to tease out possibilities. It'd be too lucky if they happened to find them in this mess. Not to mention, most of them seemed nervous, eager to find out if they would win a place on the cruise. So any behavior he might have used to ferret out the hidden prey became an expectation. Probably part of their plan, he admitted to himself reluctantly. 

Faye leaned toward his ear. “Remember, all we have to do is pass the first round right now. It'll be a straight forward waltz. Whatever you do, don't stick out. The point is precision.”

This had been her mantra for the last hour. While they carted the luggage to the limo rental, yet another detail she hadn't told him about. While they got into the car, she repeated it. During the drive there, again. Spike fought not to roll his eyes as they stepped up to the registration window. 

“Names?”

“Sp—”

Faye kicked his shin and hastily spoke over him. “Spike and Faye Sterling. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, if you will.”

Swallowing the reflex he'd wanted to perform after the kick from her stiletto heel, Spike couldn't help but recall another of her lectures. He just barely bit back what was on his mind,  _ what about keeping this damn white thing you saddled me with spotless? _

Behind the window the man sifted through the computer list and nodded. “Ahh, there we are. Right here. Just need the entry fee.” He held out a hand. 

After a pause, Faye's elbow covertly nudged Spike. He jerked a bit, then remembered and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the transfer card Ed had given him. Handing it over, he took Faye's advice and savored that it wasn't his woolongs in that account. 

As the man handed it back to him, it registered. Spike held in his hand a full access card to Faye's auction fortune. He recalled having to put down that priceless bottle of top shelf whiskey, and yet somehow she had managed to secret out her prize all the way to the damn auction house. Suddenly the prospects of this little game became more amusing. He tucked the card away as they entered into the main gathering hall.

A sea of couples packed the room. Spike gravitated toward the hors d'oeuvres, until his living anchor steered him away before he could even grab one. Any attempt to dislodge Faye resulted in her grip tightening and a hissed whisper delivered with a smile, “I'm not letting you fuck this up.”

Time ticked on, as Spike tapped his foot on the floor, waiting for something, anything to happen. The lights dimmed and a couple crossed the raised platform toward the podium. The man wore a black tux with a gold cummerbund. A pin in the shape of a stylized eye on his lapel. He seemed mild mannered enough, standing with a quiet confidence. The woman wore a form fitting dress shimmering with gold threads and colorful embroidery. A decorative beaded collar topped it off. Her straight black hair stopped at her shoulders held in place by a gold circlet with a jeweled serpent rearing. And her make-up, Spike blinked as it looked like she had slipped when applying her eyeliner and no one had told her to fix it. Maybe it was her wild energy as she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the woman addressed the crowd. “My husband Ohmar and I, Cleo Tutford, are pleased to welcome you all to the Ihy Intergalactic Dance Competition. An event that attracts the cream of the crop every year from the far reaches of the solar system. I am sure you are all excited to begin the first round of our indulgence. We had quite the record number of entries of this year.”

Ohmar took over her place at the microphone. “Before we release you to the dressing rooms to change … ”

Spike blinked down at his white tux. “Change?”

With a forced smile, Faye whispered, “Yes. What did you think the black tux was for?”

He scratched his chin. Seriously? He'd never changed clothes this many times in one day. After all, he'd slept in his suit as a matter of practicality because bounties didn't exactly adhere to schedules. Shit came up, sometimes without time to get dressed. The idea of chasing a bounty clad in boxers was not exactly appealing. This whole idea of showing up in one outfit only to change into another for no particular reason … what the flaunting fuck was with these people?

Ohmar's voice continued in a relaxed tone, “The orchestra is warming up in the ballroom. We have an excellent panel of judges this year. Remember, on this entry round, to get you what you're really after, the exclusive star cruise on our ship, the Golden Calf, requires a precise performance of a classic dance. The Viennese Waltz. The judges' eyes will be watching for anything that catches their attention, that is not a position you want to be in. If your number is called, please exit the hall. Now, without further ado, please follow the staff directions to your assigned changing rooms. We'll see you momentarily for first round. Good luck.”

Spike and Faye followed the flow of the crowd, until they reached the arched doorway. An attendant directed them towards a pair of rooms. Spike marveled that this place was large enough to have that many private rooms, even if they weren't very big as Faye vanished into the one with her name on it. Spike pushed the door open to his and locked it behind him. 

He turned to find his black tux hung up beside a mirror and Jet reclining in a chair. He cocked a grin. “Yo.”

Spike immediately slouched against the wall, grateful to release the ache in his back from standing so stiff for too long. “I don't know how they do that for so damn long. What are you doing here?”

“They told me to wait in here. So, I sort of did.” Jet gestured to a plate full of hors d'oeuvres. The second Spike saw it, he descended on it like a vulture. Jet laughed. “Somehow I knew you'd need that, pard. Now let's get you ready.”

*

Spike waited on the edge of the ballroom in the traditional black tux. He'd left Jet along with other peoples' servants waiting in a room with a large broadcast screen showing the gathering contestants, each with a number on their upper arm. Now he had one too, 268. This was a lot of competition. How could they possibly pair things down? 

A man in a nearly fluorescent purple suit strutted in front of him like a peacock. Spike blinked. Most of the other men were in black.

Faye's heels clacked on the floor as she entered wearing a flowing ballgown in layers of emerald green chiffon. A coordinated flowing scarf wrapped her shoulders. The jewelry matched with sparkling emeralds the deepest green. She still wore her gloves, the diamond ring winking in the light. The gown was tasteful, modest. And so unlike Faye that Spike had to look twice to be certain it was really her standing at his side. True, his vest matched her gown. That should have been a dead give-away.

At his shoulder she sniffed the air. “Why do I smell wasabi?” 

Spike adjusted his bow tie, nonchalantly. 

They didn't have long to wait. The orchestra fell silent as the conductor took his place. Couples began to file onto the floor. Well, some of them did. Right in front of Spike and Faye, the fluorescent peacock of a man and his neon dressed wife set one foot on the floor. The attendant called out their number.

“What? Why?” the man protested.

The attendant simply replied, “Inappropriate attire for the dance, sir. Now, please leave.”

“But I paid —”

“The rules are the rules. This is not the round to stand out.” He pointed to the door. 

Spike swallowed, around the edges of the floor more than a dozen couples didn't even get onto the floor as their numbers were called out. With Faye on his arm, he adopted an air of confidence. One foot on, no number called. Second foot on, no number. He heaved a sigh as they found a clear spot and waited. So far, so good. 

Around the edges the ruckus died down. The final confrontation from a pair who had arrived wearing attire that left nothing to the imagination. The man's chest hung out of a red shirt split all the way to his navel. And his wife wore a dress slung so low and slit so high they practically touched at her waist. She looked better suited for a casino stage show. Two attendants physically removed them when they refused, screaming about the entry fee the entire time.

The tap of the baton on the stand echoed in the room. The couples on the floor faced one another with a bow. Spike offered his left hand and brought Faye in close, his right settled on the small of her back as they assumed the customary pose. Fixing the appropriate facial expression they inclined their heads with a faint smile, and only a faint one. According to the rules Faye had picked over, too broad would catch attention from the judges seated along three edges of the ballroom floor. The hosts sat at a table in the center.

Cleo stood up. “Maestro, you may begin!”

The music began with its moderate rhythm. The couples on the crowded dance floor turned like clockwork, locked in the pattern. At least most did. It wasn't long before a startled yelp echoed followed by two numbers called our, the couples having bumped into one another.

Spike sunk into the beats of the music, only to find a slight problem. Just under Faye's smile he could see her nervous counting just beneath her breath: One, two, three. One, two, three. And her mechanical movement was edging close to off. On the turn away from the judges Spike whispered without moving his head, “Uh, excuse me, I thought the guy was supposed to lead this dance?”

When Faye swung away from the judge's gaze she did the same, hiding the exchange in the stiff pose. “We have to be together.”

Spinning in time he replied, “I know, let me lead to the music.”

Around they went. “But Spike … ”

Spike ever so slightly squeezed her hand, hoping no one saw. “Faye, if you want this, trust me.”

Her resistance dwindled, she responded to his lead as Spike sunk back into the beat of the music. There was no count in his head. There was no need. It was a pulse that he flowed with around and around. Lost in the pattern they spun in the clockwork as the numbers dwindled to missteps, trips, flamboyant hair tosses, and even an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction. None of that interrupted their flow as Spike and Faye held the strict posture, never missing a beat.

At last the music ended. Every couple turned and bowed, applauding their success.

Stiff from holding the posture for so long, Spike glanced around and counted. A total of eighty couples still remained, in the thinned out group there was a rather wide array. Lean builds to robust. Skin and hair of all types. The youngest may have been no older than nineteen. The oldest were possibly pushing eighty, but in respectable condition. Not every couple was a man and woman. A pair of tuxedo clad men grasped hands. Two pairs of women in ballgowns also remained on the dance floor. Not everyone in a tux was a man. Nor every gown adorned a woman. Spike remembered the wording on the rules, it only said competitors must be married couples. 

Somehow they had managed to survive the first elimination round. Faye beamed and hugged his upper arm, excitement in her eyes. It suddenly struck Spike. This wasn't over, the con had only just begun.

Ohmar stood at the table. “Congratulations. All of you have earned passage on our Golden Calf. Your numbers have been recorded. We will see you at the pier in an hour.”

“We did it, Spike.” Faye cheered and spun in a wide circle. “Oh I can't wait to be on board! Come on, we have to get changed!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh for fu—”

*

Jet pulled the limo up to the pier, his jaw dropped at the gigantic white starship adorned with gold. She was a sleek cruise ship, elegant of line and completely spotless as she floated in the bay. Her silhouette looked something akin to the ocean liners of Earth, only instead of smoke stacks and propellers she had a massive engine extension at her stern. Jet got lost in his attempt to estimate how many _ Bebop _ 's would fit in her storage decks. Her gang plank now crowded with the parade of elitely dressed folk.

He opened the limo door with a flicker of jealousy. 

Spike, back in the white tuxedo, stood slowly. Not even an attempt to conceal his awe. “That's the Golden Calf? Holy cow!”

Faye emerged beside him and smiled. “Worth having to retie your bow tie a couple times?”

“Depends on the food.” Spike shrugged. 

She strode forward, waving down one of the deckhands to fetch their luggage from the trunk.

Jet tapped Spike on the shoulder. “Hey kid, that's one pricey vessel. Not sure it's wise to let you run loose on there. Don't go wrecking it.”

“What are you worried about?” Spike offered him a slow grin, a hefty coin appeared in his hand. He flicked it into the air and caught it. “All the damages are  _ a la _ Faye, per arrangement. She just doesn't realize it yet.”

“In that case,” rubbing his chin, Jet gave a wink, “have a smashing good time.”


	5. Session 5

_ **Session 5** _

The key card opened the stateroom door to 170. Inside the suite sprawled out, dripping in elegance. Their luggage waited beside the king sized bed adorned with Venician worm silk sheets. The thick comforter heavy with embroidery and bead work matched the dozens of throw pillows. Everything shimmered with precious metal details including the curtain rods along the row of large windows. A sliding door permitted access to an enclosed patio. A sitting room with a cream leather love seat also sported a decent sized fridge as well as a fancy wall mounted receiver. The bathroom was nothing short of amazing, compared to the  _ Bebop _ 's industrial non-chic. Gold plated fixtures and even a small crystal chandelier topped off the marble décor. There was a real shower stall. 

Still clad in his white tux, Spike shifted around the room studying every inch of this place, clicking random buttons just to see what they'd do. He'd seen a few nice hotel rooms, especially around the casinos. But still, that was not a private yacht—no, not just a yacht, a star cruiser! This was a ship built for the pleasure of a private couple. Was every room this decked out? Well, he'd managed to sneak his lock picks in his luggage, there was a chance to answer that question.

Kicking his feet up, Spike back flopped onto the bed. His impact launched several pillows onto the floor. “Well, that's day one in the bag.”

Faye spun around, one of her earrings in between her fingers. Her eyes opened wide. “Get up! You'll wrinkle it!”

Spike leaned on his elbows and half lidded his eyes.

Tossing the earring on the dressing table she picked up his bag and threw it at him. He huffed an involuntary breath as it landed on his stomach. Faye planted her hands on her hips. “You are not sleeping in that! That's only for walking around the ship.” Her finger pointed to the bathroom. “I know you packed sweatpants, you'd never take a trip like this without your workout attire! Change into those things. And don't forget to hang that tuxedo up!”

With a grumble, Spike picked up the bag and trudged across the floor. “Yes,  _ dear _ .”

A short while later, a barefoot Spike emerged in his black sweatpants, typically reserved for martial arts practice or recovery from injuries. But for this it would do. Faye was right, he had planned on some spare time routines. He found Faye in a simple camisole tucked into a pair of shorts. Carefully she adjusted the dress on the hanger. Spike tossed a number of the excessive pillows to the side until he un-buried the functional one and flipped the blankets back. He flopped onto the left side of the bed and settled in with a yawn.

Faye turned and folded her arms. “There's only one bed.”

Through a half closed eye Spike glanced at his now naked ring finger, “We're supposed to be married, remember?”

“But … ”

“I'm not sleeping on the floor.”

Faye glanced over at the couch and chewed on her lip.

“Hey, if you want, go ahead.” Spike shut his eyes. “Night, Faye.” He couldn't help but smile. So, she hadn't thought of everything. Now it was her turn to stew in the discomfort. He could feel her hesitation as she climbed in. The soft mattress shifted as she rolled in and tried to settle. He didn't have to look, he just knew they were back to back, a fair space between them as the lights turned low.

*

It was like being embraced by heaven. Faye stretched and let the silk sheets brush against her skin. It felt like sleeping on butter, only less greasy. So lovely. She savored the luxury and let out a sigh. Oh, to just lay embraced in this forever, well—at least a bit longer. She stretched out a hand and touched something warm.

Faye's eyes snapped opened. The back of a head. Her hand had touched a shoulder blade. There was somebody in bed with her!

Panic seized her. Beneath the covers Faye delivered a hard kick with enough force to push the figure to the edge. Gravity did the rest as it vanished sliding down to the floor with a solid thump.

She bundled the blankets up against her body, hyperventilating. Where was she? What had happened? Who was that?

A low grumble carried up from the floor. “Faaaayyyyeeee!”

She wrinkled her nose. That voice was familiar.

An arm appeared, followed by another. Spike pulled himself up the side of the bed, the previously gelled hair looked rather like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. “Do you intend to do that to me every morning?”

Oh that's right. The contest. She smoothed out the covers. “Do what? You fell off the edge of the bed, klutz.”

He rubbed the small of his back and glared. “I had a little help getting there.”

“Oh stop being a baby. You're just not used to sleeping on silk sheets.”

“Sure.” Spike wandered toward the bathroom, “So says the woman who wears more clothing to bed than she does on a daily basis. That's real classy.” Before she could say a word, he shut the door.

Faye wrinkled her brow. “Well, good morning to you, sour puss.” Her phone rang from the bed stand. She picked it up and opened the channel. Jet appeared, back in his jumpsuit. “Did you return the limo?”

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.  _ “Of course I did, Faye. Did you kill Spike yet?” _

“No.”

He craned his head as if looking behind her.  _ “Where is he?” _

“Sulking in the bathroom. He woke up in a mood for some reason.”

“_Imagine that.”_

Faye smirked. “I'm sure you didn't call just on that lunkhead's account.”

“_Nope, I got your list of contestants here. Or rather ...” _ His voice got cut off as Ed appeared, crowding him out of the screen.

“_Ed found it. Lotsa couples. Kissy kissy! Spike-person and Faye-Faye on a love cruise. Roooommmmmantic!”_

Faye gave a tight lipped smile. “Great.”

Behind her, the bathroom door opened. Spike wandered out, the scent of peppermint followed as he brushed his teeth. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched and cringed at his bad behavior. Couldn't he stay in there instead of wandering around foaming like a rabid animal? Attention divided between the call and this interruption, she tried not to watch but it was a bit like a train wreck. He picked something up, like a tablet. A series of rapid beeps in the background. Then he disappeared back into the bathroom to the sound of the faucet.

Faye tried to keep her attention on Jet, who was rambling on.  _ “Didn't find much of anything right up front. It looks like eighty couples. Along with their identities we have some basic information about their homes, businesses, the usual public stuff. But with this many we're going to need to dig deeper. Nothing ultimately dirty cropped up.” _

“If it were that easy these guys would be pretty bad hackers.”

“_Exactly. They'll have covered at least the basics, at least as far as Ed covered both your profiles. They won't be too obvious.”_

A bell sounded. The door opened and closed. An aroma wafted through the room. Faye glanced up to find Spike carrying a heavily laden tray of food, already in the process of munching down a strip of crispy bacon. “SPIKE! What the hell?”

On the screen Jet covered his ears and fell silent.

Faye swung around and stared at the stack of food, more than enough for an old fashioned church potluck.

Spike reclined on the edge of the bed picking at the food with a smug grin. “Room service.” He stabbed something with a silver fork and stared at it. “Not sure what this is … wonder how it tastes?”

“That has to be a fortune! Did you order  _ everything _ ?”

He answered with his mouth full, “Pretty much.”

“How did you … ?”

Plucking the transfer card from his pocket, he held it up.

Faye stomped a foot, her fists rigid at her side. “I have to pay for that!”

Spike flashed a wide grin.

Across the transmission, Jet's laughter crackled the feed.

Faye spun on him. “Shut up, Jet!”

His laughter dwindled enough to ask,  _ “Yo, Spike, how's the grub?” _

“Better than your cooking. Can we hire this guy?”

“OOOO! I'll deal with your ass later!” Faye turned and glared at Jet. “Well, are you going to send me the file?”

“_Ed just did. You both have it.”_

Spike pulled his phone out and started to parse through it, his expression bland. Despite her simmering anger, Faye glanced over his shoulder. The IDs rolled past like a who's who in the elite society. Old money, new money, all a wide range of business ties. No one looked overtly shady. But then again, money could buy the burial of anything that was.

“Looks like we're going to have to get to know our competition.”

Spike closed the file and picked up another slice of bacon. “Good luck with that.”

“What do you mean, good luck?”

He raised an eyebrow. “This is your chase. Remember? You don't want me screwing this up and saying the wrong thing. So I'll just stay out of your way. Wonder what the dinner menu looks like?”

Faye growled and stormed into the bathroom. “I hope you get indigestion!” She slammed the door behind her.

*

Faye's phone still glowed. Spike continued to munch on his feast for a few moments before Jet called out over the channel,  _ “Sooooo, how does vengeance taste?” _

Spike shifted so he could see her phone and waved, still chewing. “Pretty sweet.”

“_Did you really order everything?”_

He swallowed and picked through for something else. “Couldn't decide with so many choices. Besides, how else am I supposed to educate myself about this fancy stuff? You've heard Faye in her many lectures,  _ can't let the bumpkin out of the room, he doesn't know anything about being civilized. _ ” His eyes widened a bit. “Ooo, now whatever those little green things are, they're spicy. That's got a kick that will wake you up.”

Jet shook his head.  _ “Well, I was going to tell Faye that Ed is gonna keep looking to see if we can't narrow things down. Find the legit folk so you can concentrate on a smaller pool.” _

Spike nodded. “I figured. Ed seems to like that stuff.”

“_And in the meantime …”_

He held up a crepe between his fingers and grinned. “I'll be here, researching.”

The bathroom door cracked open, Faye demanded, “Spike, get your ass in here. Now!”

He waved to the other side of the screen. “Gotta go see what she wants.” He killed the transmission and dragged his feet to the room. Faye stood with a comb in one hand and a bottle of gel in the other. “You're not getting out of it that easy. Now, SIT!”

*

The Golden Calf's inner décor was nothing short of lavish, if a bit overdone. The entire thing looked like an Egyptian tomb, or at least the impression of one. Columns painted in hieroglyphs, gold plated statues, everything was made to feel like this ship was the inside of a vast offering to the gods.

“What's with all the fancy pictures scribbled on the walls? Looks like someone let Ed loose with a pack of crayons.” Spike muttered, eyeing the gaudy exotic style.

Faye whispered back, “Do you know nothing of Earth's Classic Egyptian era?”

“Ehhh what?”

Out on the ship's social deck, Faye dragged Spike along, once more dressed up. His hair had been ridiculously difficult to wrestle back in place. But she'd done it. They drifted by more couples polished up and wrapped in elegant fabrics. Faye felt at ease in this pampered bliss, waving her hand politely, just a couple out for a stroll. This was the world of her youth. The upbringing in class that she had been schooled in. Polite society, not the rust bucket obnoxious buffoon class. 

And yet part of her pined, a woman of her apparent standing would not fly the  _ Redtail _ . Sure, she could purchase her own private craft, something stylish. But it wouldn't have the artillery of the military surplus MONOcraft she'd grown attached too. Luxury craft typically didn't come with a missile rack option. 

Spike walked along rather stiffly beside her.

She whispered up to him, “Loosen up.”

“Easy for you to say,” he murmured just beneath his breath.

An elder couple close by glanced up and stared curiously. Faye laughed and played like Spike had told some sort of joke. It left him looking a bit bewildered, but he wasn't facing them. Maybe they didn't notice.

The elder man patted her wife's hand. “Well my dear, I hope you're happy. We made it.”

She smiled warmly and rested her head on his shoulder. “Of course. Now that we're on this cruise it hardly matters what happens. We made it on while those snooty Richfields didn't. Won't they be stewing by the time we get back. What do you say we throw the next round and just enjoy the cruise?”

“Sounds like a marvelous idea.” He puffed up his chest and they continued on.

Faye blinked. “The entry fee was pretty pricey, why would they blow the contest?”

Spike shrugged a shoulder. “Not about the contest. It's the status. The chance to shove something in someone else's face.”

“Expensive bragging rights.”

“Pretty much.”

“That seems a bit excessive.”

Spike remarked blandly, “So is most of this. But who am I to say anything.”

They were approaching a group gathered at the edge of the room. Faye squeezed Spike's arm. “That's right. Don't say much of anything. Let me handle this. Conversations like this can be terribly difficult to navigate.”

He rolled his eyes.

Faye approached the couples and offered a warm smile. After all, in polite society one did not just inject oneself into a conversation. Best impressions were to wait and find a comfortable place to cut in. First get familiar with the topic and remark appropriately.

A blond haired man, concealed a finger point across the room as he pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. “Jim, you see the red dress?”

Jim glanced, along with his wife. “The one with the tiara?”

Faye's heartbeat increased. Information already? This was too easy.

“Mmm hmm.” He exhaled the smoke and tucked the lighter away. “That's a job.”

Faye blinked. Her voice stuck in her throat. Job? What were they talking about?

The sound of a lighter caught her attention, she glanced up to see Spike suavely lighting a cigarette. He tucked the lighter into his pocket, a hidden flicker of a grin at Faye.

_What is he doing? _

“Nonsense, Luke. That's real.” Jim pointed to a man in a red smoking jacket. “However, that's work done. Nobody has cheek bones that sculpted.”

Jim's wife chuckled into her hand. “Definitely, Byron's own wife told me about it poolside at the resort on Europa. He has an exclusive on retainer. Not that he wants anyone else to know.”

Faye stiffened. This was not the kind of conversation she'd expected. And now there was no chance to back out gracefully. A second later Faye's heart seized as Spike's voice broke into the conversation.

“Not just his cheek bones. That guy's more plastic than flesh.”

She stared wide-eyed as Spike let the tendril of smoke drift up from the cigarette between his lips. The silence stretched on too long, then Luke leaned closer to Spike. “Rumor has it that his son, that's him over there standing next to the runway model, has had so much work done he's practically a cyborg.” 

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Who cares about him. The wife's the real deal.”

Faye shrunk back, she considered hiding in her silk wrap as she regretted dragging him out of the room.

Both couples leaned forward, blinking at the woman he'd indicated. Luke took a lung full before he answered. “You sure?”

Spike nodded.

“Nobody's that perfect.”

Spike cupped his hand and whispered, “It's amazing what silicon tape can hold.”

They all did a double take as he discretely pointed to a faint white patch peeking out from the armpit of her dress.

Spike furthered it by nodding to various men and women around the room. “Real. Real. Fake. Definitely fake, should ask for a refund. Real. Fake. Real.”

Jim laughed and pulled out a cigarette, “The name's Mr. Lancing, this is my wife Maria. Got a light … uhhh?”

Spike pulled out his lighter and far smoother than Faye thought possible Spike injected himself into the upper crust. “Mr. Sterling.” The moment the flame of his lighter caught, it was done.


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

“Spike, you classless buffoon!” Faye hissed. The moment she'd been able to extract them from the conversation without causing a problem, she escorted him straight to an alcove out of the general line of sight. How could he have thought that was an appropriate topic?

He half-lidded his eyes and faced her. “You said to fit in.”

“Fit in? What the hell makes you think talking about who's had what plastic surgery is acceptable?”

Spike smirked. “I didn't bring it up.”

She held up a finger. “I really don't care. That mouth of yours is going to spoil everything. You don't know a thing about plastic surgery!”

At that he groaned into his hand. “No Faye, I don't know anything at all about it. Never mind my intel contacts in that field. Nor that spotting post surgeries is helpful in this line of work. And let's just completely disregard my personal experience with it.”

“What experience? You're telling me you've had work done?” she snapped.

He eyed her and pointed to his right eye. “This, for one, though that's hardly cosmetic. I've lost count of how many scars I've had removed. And what about the prison bar code tattoo removal?”

That brought her up short. Faye startled as she remembered the condition Spike had returned from Pluto to the _Bebop_ in. If not for the tattoo removal … Faye glanced behind Spike as motion caught her eyes. A couple stared at them. Oh shit, had they heard Spike's last words? She panicked at their stares. What to do, what to do … a distraction, a reason to be here.

She reached her arms around his neck and in a rush kissed him full on the lips. Spike's eyes widened for a moment, clearly not expecting it. But his hands settled around her waist and he leaned into it. Faye's heart fluttered. Were they selling it? Did the passing couple buy it? After all, she had Ed list them as newly-weds to cover any hiccups in their stories.

She opened her eyes and glimpsed the trail of the dress hem vanishing around the corner. Releasing Spike from the kiss, she took a deep a breath. “That was close.”

He raised an eyebrow, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Ooookay? Faye can you decide if you're pissed at me or not, please? All this mixed signal shit is really screwing with me.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, she pushed past him, biting her lip. _Don't let him see that. _“There was someone watching us.”

“And … that was proper in public?” Tossing a hand up, he rammed the other in his pocket. “If I had done that to you, you would have rammed your gun up my … ”

Faye cleared her throat, banishing the blush, she turned and poked his chest with a finger. “Watch your language.”

A gong sounded. “What was that for?”

Faye adjusted her wrap. “Dinner.”

Spike heaved a sigh. “Finally. I'm starving.” His stride carried him past her.

_Oh shit!_ Faye rushed to catch up, suddenly realizing in her haste to prepare for the contest, she'd forgotten to even address table manners!

*

The expansive dining room was already packed by the time they reached it. Round tables, each one seating four couples, all had signs with their names. A live orchestra played quietly from a stage in the corner.

Spike strode up to their empty table standing behind the chair for a long pause as he stared at the multitude of glasses, dishes, and silverware. Why were there so many forks and spoons? He tried to recall the formal dining occasions he had been Mao's bodyguard for. Of course, he hadn't been watching Mao's dining habits at that time, his real job having been to intercept anyone wanting to cut Mao's meal, and life, short. But even still, this looked like more cutlery than he'd seen even then.

Faye tapped his arm. “Darling, this looks like it's our table.”

Knocked out of his thoughts, he pulled back a chair and sat down. Looking for something for his hands to do, he pulled out a cigarette. He was halfway through it, when Faye sat down in the chair to his left, her smile hid the hint of a scowl. She banished that and fully smiled as another couple arrived.

The middle aged gentleman pulled the chair out, “Here we are, Ellen my dear. This is our table.”

She took her seat as he pushed the chair in for her. “Thank you, Daniel.”

Before taking his seat beside Spike, the man extended his hand. “Good evening, I'm Dr. Daniel Nicho Adenine, and this is my wife Ellen.”

Spike switched the cigarette to his left hand and grasped the doctor's hand. “Sterling. Spike and Faye Sterling.”

“Nice to meet you.” He settled into his chair and smiled. “I hear the Tutford's hired the most talented chef in the system.”

Relieved at the simple topic, Spike relaxed a bit in his seat. He couldn't possibly screw this up. “Well, breakfast was remarkable. I can't wait to see the menu.”

Faye shot him a look.

He shrugged it off, until Daniel chuckled into his hand, and remarked, “There is no dinner menu.”

Spike awkwardly covered by finishing his cigarette off, his stomach growled in the silence. He could not help but notice Faye wilting behind her make-up mirror.

Another couple approached the table, younger, than the Adenine's. They smiled and took their seats. “This was quite the search to find our table.” The man squeezed his wife's hand and she grinned at him. “Phillip and Eliza Dunningham. Nice to meet you all.”

Spike greeted them with the alias, getting easier every time. After the doctor mentioned his name, Eliza politely inquired, “Doctor Adenine? A doctor in what field?”

Daniel poured two glasses of white wine and handed one to Ellen. “I'm really not one to talk about my work. But I'm in research. Nothing of consequence.”

Ellen lowered her glass after taking a sip. “He's so modest. After all, you've heard of that horrid Europa Pox Virus?”

Phillip nodded. “Yes, well, everyone has. It's been in the news, practically all they are talking about. Terrible how much that is effecting the communities. They say it's the worst epidemic since that strange flu that swept through Alba city on Mars. My wife and I are considering a donation.”

Spike resisted the urge to correct them on the details of that particular event along with who was behind it, after all the crew of the _Bebop_ was supposed to keep their mouths shut about that little disaster. Damn government cover-ups.

“That would likely go to support my darling's research.” Ellen held up her glass. “Shall we say, to help with his recent break through.”

Daniel waved a hand. “I didn't do so much, it was the sequencer machine that cracked the code.”

“Code?” Eliza shook her head.

“Well yes. Thanks to the special machines in my laboratory I was able to isolate the harmful portion of the virus at fault. A simple alteration and one can either make it deadlier or trick it into attacking its own kind, eliminating the threat. But I don't want to bore anyone with the details.” Daniel glanced at Phillip as he and his wife lit cigarettes. “What do you do?”

He hugged Eliza, “We're real estate dealers. Or rather she was, I joined her venture when we got married a few years ago. We decided this would be a great chance to celebrate our anniversary and our latest development. We're starting a new resort colony on an asteroid.”

Spike swallowed wrong and choked for a moment, pounding his chest. He wasn't the only one, Faye's hand gripped his knee beneath the table. But it seemed the event only served to draw attention to Spike. Phillip nodded his way when he managed to stop coughing. “So, what about you?”

“Me?” Taking out another cigarette, Spike muttered as he lit it, “I was born with a silver spoon up my ass.”

Under the table, Faye kicked his shin as the others raised their eyebrows.

He tucked the lighter in his pocket for the beat before forcing a smile. “That's what my cousin says all the time. I think he's just jealous of my fortunate circumstances. Always nice to be handed money.”

Faye leaned forward. “Of course he's jealous. I mean combined with the Venetian worm silk from my family, well, who wouldn't be envious?” She ran her fingers down the silk wrap. “Wouldn't surprise me if some of the sheets on this ship are made from our fabric.”

Everyone looked up as another couple approached the table. An icy silence between them. Spike glanced at the name list, Jacob and Stacy Wallstreet were the final arrivals. And as they took their seats Stacy looked one step away from stabbing Jacob with a knife. There were no introductions. He stared at her and shrugged. “I didn't do anything, dear.”

“I saw how she looked at you. Don't think I don't know that skank was your business on Europa!”

Spike silently mused if there was anything in the rules about couples continuing to compete if they got a shipboard divorce.

In the uncomfortable interlude, Daniel cleared his throat. “Oh look, here comes the first course.”

Servers set down bowls of soup. Spike immediately stood and reached across the table for the salt. As he sat back down he realized every single eye at the table was fixed on him in an uncomfortably silent stare, even the irate Stacy. He swallowed, held it up and uttered, “Salt anyone?”

*

By the time they reached their stateroom Spike knew even before Faye slammed the door that he was in no way in her good graces. Tugging the restrictive knot of his tie loose he pulled the whole thing off with a sigh and tried to tread lightly.

It didn't work.

Faye stormed right up to his face and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Are you familiar with the old Earth saying _were you raised in a barn_? Well, are you? Because after that disaster that's the only thing that could possibly explain your crude behavior!”

Spike recoiled before he could catch himself. What was worse, it wasn't the threat of her body language, but her words.

“I can't believe you! You broke practically every rule! It's like you've never even seen a table before.”

An ember burned and he stepped into her. “On the _Bebop_ how do we eat?”

“There's a table!”

“With how many forks, Faye? And how often are the dishes actually touching it? You even hold them in your hands.” Spike threw the tie aside. “So I mixed a few things up tonight.”

“A few?” She tossed her hand in the air. “The only time you got it right was a steak knife, but then you gripped it like you were stabbing a live cow!”

Spike ground his teeth. “Well maybe if someone wasn't ridiculing me in public. I was hardly the worst behaved. What about Mr. handsy-feely and his irate wife? At least I didn't accuse you of cheating, throw a glass of wine and storm out.”

“You still managed to get the table to stare at you every course of the meal. Why can't you just blend in?” Faye turned her shoulder to him and stomped her foot.

That heel struck the last shred of Spike's nerve. “I cannot fulfill your explanations if you don't tell me what the hell they are! So instead of expecting me to fake something I don't know anything about, why don't you try and explain this shit to me.”

Faye's shoulder dropped a bit. Her tense jaw loosened.

Spike threw his hands in the air. “You think I enjoyed all the awkward stares? That I did that on purpose? Not on your life. That was possibly the worst meal I've ever had, and that includes the time I tried to use a flamethrower on kabobs.”

She turned and faced him, blush rising to her cheeks as she bit her lip.

That was enough to quell his outburst. Had he struck an understanding with her? He let his hands fall to his sides. “I'm serious, Faye. Covert operations only work well when we can stay covert. I can't do that with all these rules if I haven't even heard them.”

Glancing up, unspoken guilt in her eyes, Faye tugged the scarf from her shoulders. “We were in such a rush to learn the dances … I uhh … I suppose maybe I could show you. Let's get comfortable, first.”

In a short while, Spike and Faye sat on the couch back in their sleepwear. She flicked through the channels and to Spike's ultimate surprise stopped on a channel. “There's actually an etiquette channel? Huh, who knew?”

He settled in beside her watching images on the screen explaining everything in minute detail. Everything Spike never wanted to know about making a good impression.

Soft snoring caught his attention. He turned to find Faye curled up against the other arm of the couch sound asleep. With a crooked grin, he picked her up. She nestled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. The scent of orchids from her perfume wafted up.

Careful not to wake her, Spike carried her across the room and tucked her in, pulling the covers up over her shoulder. She burrowed into the pillow. He stood for a long moment, just watching her sleep in the dim room.

*

Faye stretched and slipped out of bed. She paused, something seemed a bit off. This was still the suite. After all, the stars continued to glide by as they cruised through. She glanced back to the other side of the bed.

It was empty. Spike … where was Spike?

Voices echoed from the sitting room. She wandered around the corner to find the transmitter on, quietly a show lectured on how to pour champagne. On the couch, a sweatpants clad Spike leaned against the arm, sound asleep, the remote in his limp hand.

She couldn't stop the fond smile.


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

“Spike?” Faye's muffled voice carried through the bathroom door.

Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, Spike pondered whether or not to pretend he hadn't heard her. She didn't sound pissed at him this time. That could be a cover though. One never knew when it came to Faye. After a short pause, he sighed and opened the door. He'd already put his sweatpants back on after a long hot shower to get two days worth of hair gel out. They had a few hours before the next dance round, no point in being uncomfortable for any longer than he'd have to be. Taking the towel with him, he padded out. “Yeah?”

Faye sat on the couch, her finger flicked through the file Ed had sent. “Have you gotten any vibes from the couples we've met?”

_Ah, so she's finally getting around to it._ Ruffling his hair, Spike reveled in no longer having an impenetrable barrier up there. “I got a strong vibe that Mrs. Wallstreet might be a contented widow before this cruise is out.”

She scowled up at him as he leaned over the back of the couch. “That's not what I meant.”

He scratched his head and shrugged. “Well, to be honest, do we even know we're looking for an actual couple anymore. Perhaps there are four people involved and the breakup is all part of shirking suspicion. After all, now they'll be shunned.”

“That's ridiculous.” But Faye's voice lost a bit of confidence, her finger hesitated on the screen. “Do you really think so?”

Spike folded his arms and rested his elbows on the back of the couch. “Depends on how close to their target they need to get. If they'd accomplished that already, torpedoing a relationship would give more flexibility to work with. If they haven't, then it'd be a bad move. Unless their target is a sympathetic sucker.”

Her brows knit. “Can you make this any more complicated?”

He grinned.

“Asshole.” Fixated back on the file, she sighed heavily. “The Lansings seemed pretty savvy. And that idea of talking about surgery … ”

“Could be reading the room to see how secure they were in being detected.”

She sat upright. “Did we blow our cover already?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I was more disturbed by last night with the Dunningham's. It's people like that who build un-amusement parks.”

Faye's hands covered her ears. “If you start humming that damn song I will smother you under a mountain of a throw pillows!”

“Not how I plan on going out.” Spike gave a wry laugh. “I'll pass.”

“Hey, what about that doctor?”

“Adenine? Seemed too knowledgeable to be faking it. Besides, I've heard of him before. Look him up, you'll see images from years ago. Same face.”

Faye punched the search through. “You're right. Wait a minute … you looked him up this morning, didn't you!”

He gave an innocent smile. “I may have had my suspicions. That's at least one we can confidently check off the list.”

Faye's confidence wilted, “And how many more couples to rule out?”

He resumed drying his hair, sending droplets everywhere. “This was your idea. Said it would be easy.”

Dropping the phone onto the coffee table, she stood and crossed to the bathroom. “Well … we're just going to have to try harder.”

“We?” Before the door closed, Spike flopped down on the couch and helpfully suggested, “Ever think they didn't pass the first round?” The door shut. He held up three fingers, two, then one.

“Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!”

Smiling, Spike kicked back and flipped through the channels, settling on an old Bruce Lee flick he'd swear he'd seen a million times. Shortly after the water from the shower shut off, and roughly halfway through the movie, a knock on the door caught his attention.

Spike crossed the room knowing he hadn't ordered anything this time, he and Faye had shared a modest breakfast earlier. He prepared, for the unlikely event, that someone had figured out who they really were and opened the door in an outwardly casual manner.

He didn't say one word as he stared half-lidded at three rather familiar people in the hall. Three faces he did not want to see. Three faces he decided were not there.

In one smooth motion he shut the door.

“Spike?” Faye called from the bathroom. “Was someone at the door?”

“No.” He leaned against it.

A knock echoed.

Walking into the room wrapped in a robe, Faye glared at him. “Open that door and let them in!”

“Absolutely not!”

Faye took a running start and slammed into Spike's shoulder knocking him from the door enough that she could wrench it open. She threw her arms wide and called out, “Cygne, Maxine, Fernando! Right on time.”

Grumbling, Spike stalked to the far side of the room, eyeing Maxine with scowl. “What are _they_ doing on the ship?”

Faye shut the door behind them and dropped the formal act. “Making sure _we_ stay in the contest. Every lady needs her attendants.”

“Good. They can stay the hell away from me.”

Maxine fixed her eyes on his hair. “Oh dear. It's back.”

He narrowed his eyes, keeping the distance from her as a comb flicked out reminiscent of a switchblade.

“Alright, Cygne and Maxine. I have everything laid out in here.” Faye sauntered into the bathroom followed by the pair and the door shut.

Spike relaxed, until he noted Fernando across the room calmly smiling at him. “Oh great … so let me guess, Faye hired you for me.”

He snapped a nod and held out a tuxedo vest and tie accented with sequins. “For the foxtrot.”

“Sequins? Oh Faye.” Spike groaned. “How many of these damn things are there?”

Fernando waved a hand. “Do you really want an answer to that, Mr. Spiegel?”

He shook his head.

“I assumed not.”

Belatedly it hit Spike. He stiffened as he realized which name had been used.

Fernando winked. “You have nothing to concern yourself with. Ms. Valentine is a valuable customer. We are known for our discretion.”

“Well that's a relief. I'd hate to have gone through all this shit just to have Faye's whole scheme get blown.”

Crossing the room Fernando set the vest and tie on the bed and pulled out the black tuxedo from the wardrobe. “This will work for today's round. I made certain there was a bit more clearance around the vest arm holes then the cut for the Waltz.”

Spike narrowed one eye. “Why? It's a simple step dance. Slow, slow, step left quick, together quick, repeat until you're bored; right?”

Fernando glanced over his shoulder. “Well, if it were the closed form, yes. But this round is open.”

“Huh? Doors open and close … how can a dance?”

He straightened upright. “Open form means it includes more than the simple promenade, four step box, and closed turns. Chasse, open turns, twists, spins, and certain lifts are all permitted.”

_Can we possibly make this more complicated? _ Spike eyed the closed bathroom door. “Can I throw her across the room?”

Holding up a hand, Fernando shook his head. “No. That would be improper. However, throws are included in various upcoming rounds such as the jazz swing and cabaret.”

“Now **that's** incentive to stay in the contest.” Spike rubbed his hands together. “I thought we were supposed to be blending in, not drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Only on the waltz. The purpose there was not to draw attention to one-self and perform with strict precision. The foxtrot, however, the intention is to draw the eye of the judge in a moderate way.”

“Moderate?”

“Yes. You want the judges to note your number this time by doing some sort of combination that stands out in time to the music, and then don't screw up the rest of the round. You don't want them calling your number aloud during. That means you're out. The better you get their attention, the higher you'll be in the ranking.”

Spike pondered, “Certain lifts?”

Fernando patted his own shoulder. “The lady's waist may come as high as the gentleman's shoulder. Nothing overhead.”

Now it made sense why Faye had brought this man aboard. So Fernando knew the particulars of this little sport. Armed with this new information, Spike muttered about a routine, stepping through a couple sequences as Fernando watched.

The door cracked open, Maxine emerged. Spike turned in mid-practice to find himself face to face with her. “You washed your hair. Time to tame that rat's nest, boy!”

Spike jerked back away from her. “Oh no you don't! Get away from me!”

“It's a small room, you can't get too far, unless you go runnin' down the hall half-dressed!”

“FAAAAYYYYEEEE!”

*

Jet set down a bowl of popcorn and cracked open a beer as he propped his feet up on the table. He'd brought the receiver closer and clicked through til the glittery pattern filled the screen complete with the title  **Ihy Intergalatic Dance Competition** . A pair of well dressed announcers leaned on a balcony railing over the elaborately Egyptian decorated ballroom. They addressed the camera.

“_I'm Derrick Louis, and this is Veronica McNeil. Welcome to this year's finest dance competition where the elite gather and battle for the honor of being dubbed champions.” _

“_Winners are awarded automatic entrance into next year's contest, which includes the cruise aboard the Golden Calf, the system's largest private cruise ship. As well as a hundred million woolong prize. Carlos and Roberta Esposito are this year's returning champions.”_

“_Have you seen her dress this year?”_

“_I did,” _Veronica pointed over her shoulder,_“about a half hour ago they were talking to Ohmar and Chleo and Tutford preparing the dance floor for this afternoon's round. The Foxtrot! The final group dance before everything becomes an individual routine.”_

“_The couples are arriving in a multicolored spectacle. This is the dance where the goal is to grab the attention of judges in a subtle way without breaking rhythm.”_

Jet smirked. “Those two? Subtle? This'll be their final round.”

Ed galloped through the room followed by the herd of robotic compys and Ein. “Dance dance! Spike and Faye trot trot, foxtrot! How does a fox trot?”

A couple of the little creatures skidded over the table. One marked in white dots, paused and stared at the bowl of popcorn. His nose poked at the fluffed kernels.

“You! Outta there.” Jet put a thumb in the air and pointed over his shoulder. “You don't even eat that stuff.”

The little beast hissed at him.

Jet raised an eyebrow. “Touch it and I'll punt you across the room.”

Lifting its snout in the air the compy reached over and touched a kernel with a claw.

CLANG!

The little beast never saw Jet's boot before it connected with the center of its chest sending it flying across the room into the wall. Jet smiled and took a handful of popcorn. “My ship, my rules.”

The others craned their heads before ducking into the protection of their group.

Ed cartwheeled over to the now staggering compy and picked him up. “Didn't Ed tell you not to do that? It's ok, Ed can fix Jīn.” She ambled over to the couch and flopped down on it, the robot in her lap.

“While you're at it, can you reprogram it? I swear that's the one that's been leaving little hoards all over the ship.”

“Can't. Not programming.” Ed muttered as her fingers carefully pushed pieces back into place.

“But you did that, right? You made them all different.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Ed just painted them different so she knew which was the mean one.”

Furrowing his brow, Jet eyed them. He knew the black striped one was Spike's beer fetcher. That one, the quietest of the bunch, now perched on the back of the couch watching Ed work. “Mean one?”

As if one cue the red streaked one glared at him.

Jet shifted so his foot had a clear path in case the thing charged. That stare unnerved him. Until the gold marked one hissed and put an end to the staring match. The pack of robotic beasts settled down.

Jet glanced at the screen, already eighty couples shifted around the dance floor in time to the music. From this far back it was hard to tell who was who. He tried to spot Spike and Faye amidst the crowd. Of course he realized about half a minute later that Spike's signature fluffy hair probably wasn't fluffy anymore. He was looking for slicked back … oh dear, most of the mens' hair was slicked back.

Around the dance floor couples swirled in a pattern of steps. Two slows, and two quicks. It was dizzy as they went around and around to the song “It Had to Be You”. Jet chuckled a bit at the thought of how apropos the song choice was.

One of the judges called out a number on the screen. An elderly couple left the dance floor, both smiling.

“_Oh dear,” _Veronica called out, _“there goes the Delucas. So early in the round to have a mix-up of their feet.”_

“_That's how it works. And the round continues as we have our first elimination.”_

Ed rocked back and forth humming the music. The now repaired little creature swayed with her, beady eyes watching the screen. “Spike-person and Faye-Faye are down there. Turn and turn and turn... getting dizzy!”

Jet chuckled. Amazingly only a few more couples were excused from the floor. But none were their number. Wasn't it two hundred something he had seen Spike wearing? 

Suddenly in the midst of a turn one couple separated. The camera focused on them. The man's head turned, oogling another women. His partner threw his hand grip and brought her knee up right between his legs. Down he went as she stalked off.

“_Ohhh! And that's a hard result for the Wallstreets.”_

The fallen Mr. Wallstreet lay in the fetal position directing in the path of on coming dancers. Jet cringed at the inevitable. 

That didn't happen! The oncoming couple turned into the space and in a swift, almost planned, move the guy lifted his partner up by the waist and floated her over the fallen man. Bringing her down in an elegant little spin on the other side. They closed and resumed the box pattern.

“_Whoa! Derrick, did you see that?”_

“_I don't believe my eyes! Who was that? Couple number 268. Let's see, newcomers to the contest, Spike and Faye Sterling.”_

Jet choked on his beer. He leaned forward as the camera focused on the pair. Spike looked perfectly at ease on the screen, his eyes scanning the floor each time they came around. Faye moved backwards in an elegant red dress sparkling with sequins. She spared a glance for the downed man, but that was all. A smile graced her face.

Ed cheered. “Spin spin, Faye-Faye FLY!”

“That's Spike and Faye! But … they're actually … how did … that was amazing!”

His remarks echoed Derrick on the screen. _“That was a very smooth transition. And it looks like the judges saw it, too. According to registration info, the Sterlings are newly-weds. This cruise is their honeymoon. I have never seen such a young couple more synced. There was no way they could have planned for that.”_

On the screen two couples tripped and fell over Mr. Wallstreet.

“_Unfortunately there goes the Astors and the Tobashis. Too bad for them. It's the sidelines for the rest of the cruise.”_

Now locked onto the couples, Jet leaned forward and followed the path as Spike clearly led Faye through and around the dance floor, changing up the direction every now and again. How were they managing it? He squinted. Blink, and he would miss it. A subtle nod of the head one direction right before he took it. Then a nod the other way.

Brilliant. Their steps kept the pattern slow-slow-quick-quick entirely unbroken. Tossing in some straight, zig-zags, cutting right and left. They maneuvered without hesitation. Certainly they were not the absolute best out there. But damn they made a spectacle enough with their unique style.

As the music came to a stop. The couples applauded. A list of numbers spilled down a board. Spike and Faye's comfortably in the upper half of roughly sixty couples.

Jet leaned forward, elbow on his knee. “Well, I'll be. They did it!”

“_The next round will be in two days when all these lovely couples will showcase the tango, the dance of love.”_

Tossing the compy in the air, Ed sang out, “Loose foot, foot loose. Dance dance, banana! Oooo la la, flash the tango!”

The camera skimmed through the couples. Jet blinked as it caught Faye hugging Spike's arm and bouncing on her heels. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but she was clearly bubbling over in excitement. Spike glanced at the camera. His eyes shifted to Faye and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

It was swift—but it happened. And instead of decking Spike, Faye rested her head on his shoulder.

Jet's jaw dropped.


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

Tugging the tie loose, Spike popped the top button on his shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. His jacket discarded, he kicked back on the couch and ditched his dance shoes. All the while Jet's flabbergasted voice carried on through his phone. _“I can't believe you two out there! I mean did something take over your minds?”_

Spike laughed. “I have no idea what you're talking about, pard. It was just another round.”

“_Just another round? That lift is all anyone is talking about!”_

“Seemed like a better idea at the time then letting her trip.” He shrugged a shoulder. “What was I supposed to do, lead Faye right over the prick?”

“_Prick?” _Jet sat up straighter.

“Faye and I had the displeasure of having dinner with that couple the other night. Apparently Mr. Wallstreet invested in someone else's wife. It was news to his own before they even sat down. Saved my ass a bit, when she threw the wine glass at him everyone seemed to forget about my table manners.”

Dropping his head into his hand, Jet chuckled.  _“Seriously? I thought the rich were supposed to be well mannered.”_

Spike stretched and cupped his hands behind his head. “So did I. Turns out they're just spoiled brats without budgets. Certainly has made this a bit more interesting than I first thought it would be.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jet rubbed his chin. _“Speaking of interesting … you do know that everyone saw you both after the dance. The camera was on you.”_

Spike half-lidded his eyes. “And … ?”

“_Spike! You kissed Faye!”_

“Of course I did. According to Faye we're supposed to be newly-weds or some shit. Apparently kissing is a big part of that.” He rolled his eyes, but his voice dropped a bit lower. “That, and Faye threatened to sick Maxine, one of her personal assistants, on me for a full body wax if I didn't make it look convincing. Trust me,” he flashed the still buffed-to-a-shine nails, “that is not a woman I want anywhere near me again! Especially not with hot wax! The hair goop is bad enough.”

Jet broke into laughter.

“I'm glad someone is enjoying this at my expense. I can't wait to not have to deal with all this shit. Back in the suite changing again because well … can't be caught in the same outfit. What is it with that? And why a white suit for mealtime?”

Still chuckling, Jet remarked. _“I figured it out. To keep your reckless ass in line.”_

Spike stiffened and glared at the closed bathroom door. “Why that bit—!”

“_Surprised that didn't occur to you, kid.”_

“Been a bit distracted, for some reason. Anyway, I suppose I better get changed. Dinner is,” he glanced at the clock, “in about a half hour.”

“_Oh, hey, before you go. Ed has another present for you. Here's a list you can rule out. All these couples have been in the public eye for several years at the least with only … uhhh … minimal changes. So not likely candidates.”_

Spike reached forward and opened the file, scrolling through the list of thirty-six couples. “Lawyers, business investors, doctors, designers, real estate moguls. Oh, there's a tech on here, would have suspected that one, good to know they're legit.” Spike's eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Why am I the one checking this? This is Faye's job.”

Jet grinned.  _“Just like old times.”_

“Whatever.”

“_Ed's gonna keep looking. Just because they aren't in the public ...”_

“... doesn't mean they aren't legit. Some people just stay out of the eye. Thanks Jet. It's looking like if we're gonna tag this bounty I'll have to be the responsible one.”

“_Scary thought.”_

“I know.” Spike disconnected the phone.

Crossing the room, Spike pulled out the white tuxedo and glared at it. “Damn it, even I have to admit, that was a slick move, Faye.”

*

Spike pushed Faye's chair in for her before taking his own. They'd arrived to their dinner table a touch late. Two couples had arrived and were engaged in a conversation before them. The Lansings were one. The other, Thadeous and Victoria Vanderleer, investors in the gate system. Spike recognized the name from Ed's list. The Lansings, however, were not on said list.

Jim and Maria both smiled. “Aha, if it isn't the Sterlings.”

Spike lit a cigarette, and before he put his lighter away, lit Faye's for her. “Mr. and Mrs. Lansing. Pleasure seeing you again.”

The Vanderleers raised their eyebrows. Victoria reached for her wine glass. “The Sterlings? You two are the ones everyone is talking about.”

Spike cocked his head. “Really? I can't imagine why.”

Maria laughed and touched Faye's gloved hand. “The lift your husband did during the dance. So smooth. That could have been an utter disaster if he hadn't saved you from falling over Mr. Wallstreet.”

Faye leaned against Spike's shoulder and grinned. “You make it sound as if my life were I danger. How romantic.”

Spike forced a smile. “Well, this competition is your life, my dear. What kind of a partner would I be if I didn't save your chances of being the dancing queen you dream of?” _In other words, get your ass in gear and start fronting this!_

Faye blew out a breath of smoke. “Isn't he just the sweetest catch? This whole thing is his special treat to me. He knew I'd been on the cheer dance squad in school, and how much I lived on the dance floor back then. Such a wonderful honeymoon gift.”

Images came to Spike from the old beta video of Faye with the pom poms. How much of what she said was the truth? “Would've been a shame to blow it on the second dance.”

Jim tapped the ash from his cigarette. “Still, that was a quick response. Not a typical occurrence in the foxtrot.”

Spike shrugged. “Just a little something I picked up in the style I'm most accustomed to.”

Jim and Marie both leaned forward, intrigued, almost crowding. “And that is … ?”

Faye even eyed him, though she clearly forced a soft expression.

“I'm a jazz swing dancer.”

“Well now, there's a round we'll all have to watch out for.” Jim patted Maria's hand. “Did you dance competitively?”

Spike pondered that for a moment, recalling the music blaring in the packed hall with the women practically fighting to be his dance partner. He nodded. “You could say that.”

The conversation carried on as the courses began to arrive. This time armed with the proper knowledge Spike remained relaxed as he selected the proper utensils. At his side even Faye appeared far less anxious as the plates of lobster appeared before them. No awkward stares from the others. Just a pleasant, and highly satisifying meal.

Jim set his fork down in the midst of the Callisto berry flan. “There is an interesting trend in the tech market now a-days for data storage.”

Faye glanced his direction. “Data storage? Isn't that fairly straight forward?”

“It used to be. There are a number of encoding methods. But the trick is in keeping it all secured. That's where my business comes in. The smaller the device, the more portable it is. With all the far flung traveling these days, physical space is at a premium.”

“Jim,” Maria glanced up, a bite prepared on her fork, “you're rambling again.”

“I uhh,” a bit of sweat appeared on his forehead, “gee, I'm sorry.”

Maria grinned. “He gets a little excited about his business.”

Spike remarked dryly, “I probably would too, if I had any.”

About to say something, Faye glanced up at a couple standing off to Spike's side. He caught her line of sight and slowly looked up at them. Youngish, and extremely fit, the pair stared down their noses. Smoothly, Spike set his fork down and folded his hands. “Can I help you with something?”

The woman hissed, “Look, Carlos, it's the Sterlings.”

Carlos adjusted his suit jacket. “I see, Roberta, what I don't see is what all the fuss is about.”

Last year's winning couple, Carlos and Roberta Esposito. _Nice to see how humble they are._ Spike replied cooly, “To be honest, neither do I.”

Roberta placed a hand to her heart. “Oh, how cute. At least he has brains enough to realize he's nothing special.”

Spike grappled with the urge to grab the fork and stab her in the eye. After all, though it wasn't mentioned in the etiquette material, he couldn't imagine that passing for civilized. He eyed their flashy attire with both dress and suit accents vibrant and metallic to the point they looked like hood ornaments on a fancy car. Overly pleasant, Spike gestured at the pair, “Well you know what they say about fancy wrapping on packages.”

No one replied.

He half hooded his eyes and stared them dead on. “The wrappings are worth more than what's inside.”

With a huff, the dancers sauntered off.

Faye growled in Spike's ear, “I want to kick her ass!”

He patted Faye's hand and whispered back, “Now now, let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

*

The buffing pad rubbed over Faye's ring finger nail, shining the already smooth nail polish. She sat on the bed smiling after the successful dinner. Finally she began feeling at home. Her gaze flicked over to Spike laying on his back beneath the covers, hands behind his head as he idly watched the smoke from his cigarette drift up. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to say something. In the quiet the faint squeal of suppression escaped her. She kept buffing as though nothing had happened, but the shift of Spike's eyes toward her marked that he'd heard it.

In a tumble it came out. “You handled that so smoothly tonight. The dinner, and those pompous assholes afterward. I was going to say something to them, but you beat me to it. That was so perfect.”

Spike drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I meant what I said.”

Faye squirmed and squeezed the buffing pad, a poof of fine powder floated in the air. “The look on their faces, as if they'd expected everyone to just bow down and kiss their feet.”

“They probably did, it's a common enough attitude.”

“Oh Spike, what would you know?” She resumed buffing her nail polish to a high gloss. “Honestly when I was growing up it wasn't like that at all.”

“Mmm hmm, so you remembered it all. Good for you.”

“I do.” Faye's heartbeat quickened as she glanced around at the finery in their stateroom. Oh the precious memories as they flowed in a torrent. Where to begin? “I mean, the mansion on Earth is gone now. But I remember it so clearly, especially when I stood on the foundations. My bedroom, just like in the video. It was bigger than this room, which was great for when the girls came over and we practiced for the cheer squad and the dance line.” She giggled into her hand. “My senior year I think we all had a crush on the same guy. Hui, the captain of the soccer team. Of course he never dated any of us, but a girl could dream.”

Leaning over, Spike snubbed the cigarette in the ash tray on the nightstand and settled his head in the crook of his arm, his back to her.

“I admit, when I was there I really hated it. The uniforms, all the tests, and the teachers constant demands. Really cut into everything I wanted to do. But Mom and Dad insisted, they said people are defined by their origins. It was the best school in the region and if I didn't keep my grades up then I'd be out. That would have been embarrassing to them. Every year they held this huge ball at the school around the holidays. Mom and Dad were the hosts and they made sure that every last detail was perfect.” Faye's voice cracked for a moment, her hand drifted up to rest on her shoulder. “Right down to the father-daughter dance. Back then I dreaded it, all I wanted was for it to be over so I could flirt with the boys my age. But now … now I'd give anything just to have that moment again. To be in his arms, hear his voice calling me his little angel.”

She heaved a sigh. “But they're the angels now. Long ago—they didn't survive the shuttle accident. It's so odd to think that when that happened the hypergates weren't even built. Everyone in that time had been born on Earth. And now people come from so many different places. Back then I never would have imagined someone going to school on Mars. Martians were these little green men from sci-fi.”

Faye leaned forward, hugging one leg. “What was it like, going to school on Mars? Was it any different than on Earth?”

Spike muttered wearily, “I honestly wouldn't know.”

“What were the sports clubs where you went? They had to have had martial arts. I bet you were the team captain. And something tells me the girls would have been hounding you.” About to start on her toenails, Faye glanced up as the bed shifted.

Spike rolled out of the bed leaving the covers thrown back. On his way across the room he grabbed an already opened bottle of whiskey and headed straight for the enclosed patio. The sound of the latch striking the plate as the sliding door bounced from the force filled the silent room. He sunk down against the wall, vanishing from her sight.

“That was … weird.” Faye set the nail buffer aside and followed, hesitant as she opened the door. She found him sitting on the floor with one knee up, his elbow resting there. In his lap he held the opened bottle. His eyes stared out at the stars flowing by the thick windows. There were chairs, ones that would have been more comfortable, but he sat with his bare back against the wall. Slowly, Faye shut the door behind her. She weighed his expression, not one he wore often. Not one she knew how to gauge. Leaving a few feet between them, she sat down on the floor and hugged her knees. “Spike? Are you alright?”

His answer was a mouthful of whiskey. Those eyes were so distant now.

It sent a shiver down her spine. What had she done? What had she said? Faye reached out a hand. “Spike, I … ”

“Drop it, Faye.” His voice was flat. Too flat. Stripped of all emotion. “Go back to bed.”

She withdrew, and gripped her knees, a tight knot in her chest. “I just thought, I mean we never talked about … ”

He turned away from her. “Your precious dream life.”

A stab of heat flared in her. “I lost everything, you know!”

He didn't answer with a word … instead it was a nod. A slow and deliberate nod.

Faye leaned forward.

“At least you had it to lose.”

“What … what are you talking about?”

He took another drink from the bottle and dropped it into his lap. Idle fingers traced the label. He didn't look at her, and something told Faye that he couldn't. “What would school be like on Mars … shit, would be nice to know.”

_Of course he went … didn't he? He's so damn clever. _ Faye blinked. “It's only like the wealthiest colony in the system. Surely you … ” She stopped as his head dropped lower. “You … didn't?”

He shook his head. “No point in having a school in a slum crater where most kids didn't reach their teens. What's the point of planning for a future that'll never materialize.”

Faye tried to imagine such a place from her younger self. She'd been to some harder places since then, but as a child her harshest memory was having to walk her bike home after skinning her knee. “Why didn't your parents move?”

“They couldn't … at least not in time.” His voice remained trapped in that emotionless void. “I don't remember much of them. Images here and there. But they almost don't even seem real after all this time.”

“Did they abandon you?”

“Not on purpose. They left like so many others did in a crater that looks a lot like Earth now. Only in that case the fire didn't rain from the skies.”

She inhaled sharply. “Your parents were murdered?”

Spike nodded. “The day after my sixth birthday. I came home to find I didn't have one anymore. And like the foolish boy I was I went to the only other person I knew. The owner of a pool hall my father had taken me to on several occasions. Thought he was family”

_That explains a few things. _ She tried to smile. “And he took you in.”

“As if it had been that simple. Nobody just does that, Faye.” His fingers still traced the label.

“Well, some people do.”

“Not in that shit hole, they don't.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I was too damn naive to know what was really going on. All that jerk cared about was the con. I'd thought he cared about me, I'd thought we shared something when he started to school me in the games and all the cheats. The pride in his eyes the first night I took on the local pool sharks and raked in more woolongs than I had ever seen. That right there should have been enough.” Spike stared at the ceiling. “But all I ever got for playing the game was a roof over my head. One that wasn't even guaranteed. If I pissed him off, I spent a miserable night in the alleys dodging the gangs and running from the dogs I scrapped with occasionally to get food. Probably looked like a meal to them.”

Faye cringed. “You were stealing from dogs?”

“Beggars can't be choosers. And in those streets there weren't many options. Several times I took a wrong turn and ended up bleeding from their teeth.” He took another swallow of the whiskey. “Was running out of time that night, and I damn well knew it. I don't think Joe guessed what I was up to, thankfully he'd been ignoring me after a rather … bad stint.”

The way he said  _bad stint_ didn't sit well. “What happened, was he mad at you?”

“Disappointed, and probably still pissed. I'd gotten a bit too desperate for a meal and tried to hold out on the con so I had enough to buy something. The damn coins jingled in my pocket on the way out the door.” Spike swallowed. “I'd almost gotten away with it, but he'd made the rules clear. The roof was all I got from him. Not that night. After he emptied my pockets he shoved me out the door and locked it. Bout halfway through the night a mongrel cornered me in an alley and before I could climb out he took a good nip out of my calf. The next days I spent trying to hustle the pool table to earn my keep distracted by gash. Joe wasn't pleased with my distraction. The profits weren't as good as I'd missed a few shots that were usually easy. I usually didn't lose. But I just couldn't keep steady with my leg threatening to give out.”

“How old were you?”

Spike closed his eyes. “I was twelve … and realizing I wouldn't live to see thirteen if shit didn't change. Joe would only miss what he made off of me. That night I'd only just stopped limping from that damn dog bite, which meant I'd really been struggling to scavenge, when Mao,” Faye's head snapped up at the name she knew, Spike didn't notice and kept going, “and the other Red Dragons walked in. I wasn't deaf, I'd heard the rumors of these guys from Tharsis. I had one chance to impress them. One chance to make something happen. One way out. At the end of that damn stick was the gamble for my life. And I had to hold my desperation all in check while I played Mao right into the game. A Red Dragon capo against a scrawny boy. The odds were in his favor, so they seemed. Once he missed that second shot I couldn't miss. That was all I had to do. Win the game with enough flare and pinch every pocket in the process, like always. And then walk away with all the confidence I didn't possess.” 

Spike lowered his head, resting it on the bottle's lip. “They were in the damn office for I don't how long. The entire time I sat behind the counter trembling, running through scenarios of what would happen if my plan had failed. What new hell Joe would introduce me to for risking the wrath of a syndicate on his business. If my one shot out of that dead end crater had been a scratch … but then the door opened.” 

Faye waited in the silence as Spike stared out at the stars. She tried to envision what he would have looked like back then standing in front of the man she had seen on the bounty call. The man whose body had been in the opera house box. She shuddered. Vicious … that was a man she was glad she'd never see again.

“Tharsis wasn't even a dream. I'd never had dreams or ambitions. What was there to even shoot for? But thanks to Mao … that struggle was over.” He shook his head. “And another began. I spent the next years living and training in a dorm with a bunch of other boys slated to become Red Dragon enforcers. Other boys that no one would miss. Every time I hit that mat in a sparring match it wasn't just for practice, already the idea of ranks and reputation ruled our days. Especially for Vicious.”

Faye shot upright. “Vicious? You knew … ”

“We trained together. He'd been there before me.” Spike heaved a sigh. “Which only added insult to injury when he couldn't take me down, and our first match ended in a stalemate. I probably should have taken the dive. But I couldn't hold back. Our sensei would have known.” He rubbed his eyes. “Our sensei had known even before why I wouldn't hold back. He knew what I was determined to run from. That I refused to be defined as 'Yenrai's street cur'. The only way to ensure those days were over was to make certain everyone knew I wouldn't go down without a fight.” He lifted a shoulder. “The best way to do that is denying the only unbeaten student his victory.”

“How,” the words caught in her throat, could she say that name? “How did he take it?”

“Vicious? As a personal challenge.” Spike took a longer swallow of the whiskey. His voice cracked, “Screw him and everything that bastard did. I had a home … ”

This was a runaway train she didn't want to see crash. Faye leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. “Spike, you  **have** a home. And you were right … the past doesn't matter. You know what, I'm glad that Mao got you out of there. I'm glad that a smart-ass pool shark survived to sail out into the stars. I'm glad that lunkhead has been here to save my ass.”

Spike's gaze turned to her. His eyes tinted with whiskey.

She held out her hand,  _you've had enough. _ But she couldn't say it, that would make him chase the bottom faster. 

He set the bottle aside and turned back to watching the stars fly by the ship. “You're a long way from home, Romani.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “So are you, Spike.”


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

It was morning, alright. Not that Spike could tell by any rise of the sun, but rather by the unnatural sense that came from floating around the endless star-scape. Like the internal clock set itself. He lay on his side burrowed into the comfort of the bed. Something felt a little off, and it wasn't the taste of stale whiskey coating his tongue. Someone was nearby, not just next to but leaning over him.

He cracked his eyes open. Faye startled and darted backward, trying to shuffle back down under the covers.

“Yes, Faye?”

“I uhh … you're awake,” she stuttered. “I was just … getting back into bed. Figured we didn't have anything so … ”

Spike rolled his fingers across the blanket. “You're a terrible liar.”

She sat up straight and stared at him. “You're not hungover!”

“Why would I be?” He shrugged, cocked his arm beneath his head. “I've had a fair amount more in one shot before without feeling much from it. A side effect of drinking since I was a kid.”

Faye's cheeks blushed, she pulled the blanket up trying to cover it. “You remember last night … ”

He nodded.

“Spike, I really didn't mean … ”

“Nor did I.” He watched her weighed down in a rare moment of guilt. “But, I'm glad I did.”

Her hands lowered. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

“I hadn't intended to say anything. I'd gone out there just to keep from telling you to shut up. But, once I slipped and it all sort of came out,” he propped his head up on a hand, “I never imagined it would feel better to have someone else know what I came from.”

Faye settled back down, her fingers tracing the bead work on the comforter. “I wouldn't have guessed. You always seemed so sure of yourself.”

He leaned over and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it, he lay on his back and sighed. “Just one of my hard won skills, fooling others into believing what I want them to. You know, like a _lazy lunkhead_.”

“You have Jet pretty convinced there.” She chuckled. “Speaking of him, does he know?”

“That I came from Deseado? That much, yes. Not the full details.”

“Maybe you should have told him. He was a detective in ISSP. Spike, what that man did to you was child neglect and abuse.”

Spike rolled his eyes to her. “Tell that to the cops who frequented that hall. They saw what Joe did to me. They knew his scams. Over the years they never lifted a finger to stop him. In fact every time they picked me up for some petty little offense, they made certain I made it back into his hands. So, in a place like that, no one cared enough to make a real difference. The harsh fact was, I had a place to crash unlike many of the others. Without that I wouldn't have lasted a year.”

“Well, did you ever think about placing a bounty on his head now?”

Spike released a slow laugh. “Can't.”

“Why not? The man deserves to be punished. Surely we can dig up something.” She tapped her chin.

He shut his eyes and smiled. “He paid the price years ago. I made certain of that.”

The mattress squeaked as she sat back up. “How?”

“You really want to know how I paid my debt to that asshole?” Spike cradled the back of his head in his hands. “Alright, it was a rainy night. I'd been a Red Dragon enforcer for a handful of years, still a grunt, this would have been before Vicious and I became officers. Recently gotten used to this damn eye when I found myself on a routine job in Deseado with time to kill … ”

*

A cold rain poured down, battering the night-shrouded alley as Spike ducked into his leather jacket. He'd made good time in the _Swordfish_, too good time. The delivery wasn't set to take place for hours. As miserable as being caught in the deluge as this was, he grinned at the memory of Vicious's face as he'd taken off from Tharsis. As much as the ship cost him to keep the hunk of junk running, ever since he'd brought it back from Earth Mao had singled him out for crater drops. The more discrete monoracer blended in, something that the Red Dragon's official vessels didn't. Every time Spike left Vicious behind that frustrated scowl was something to be savored.

Still, Spike splashed through the flooding gutters, water soaked up his jeans. Garbage and rubble from the dilapidated buildings lay scattered in the street. One in three street lamps were either burnt or shot out. A couple of dogs barked and snarled, fighting over a tipped trash can. Spike passed them, his hand on the gun just in case they got any ideas about him. This place hadn't changed much. But he had. Everything looked different, less intimidating from his mature height.

He stopped, a thought straying into his mind. From this intersection it was only a couple blocks. Had someone taken it out?

The streetlamp guttered off the front stoop. An old brick building stood in defiance of the devastation all around. Only a handful of buildings still remained more than ruins. Crumbling on one side, it looked like it had taken damage when the one beside it burnt down. A few bricks lay on the sidewalk surrounded by crumbling grout. The white lettering on the windowpane had cracked and tinted a sickly tan. Uncle Joe's Pool Hall.

Spike opened the door to the assault of the overpowering stench of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and mildew. Even as a lifelong smoker, he found it foul. Of course the mildew had escaped the confines of the office. Now it creapt along the wall in a dark shadow. Still, the joint wasn't deserted, a couple of grizzled men shot pool ringed by a haze of smoke.

Shaking off the rain. Spike wandered up to a table and waited, watching the game until the winner glanced his way and gestured, he flipped up a stack of woolongs.

With a smile, Spike pulled out a wad of his own and selected enough to match. He grabbed a cue and let the winner take the break shot as he lit a cigarette. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike watched as the office door opened. A bald man lumbered out and shut it behind him. Joe. And the years had only added to his girth.

His fingers itched to reach for his gun. But he resisted. Not yet. Don't make it too quick. Spike glanced up as his opponent missed the shot. Now came the hard part. Holding back, he resisted the series of trick shots that presented themselves. He didn't want to give the game away too soon. No point in spooking the prey. Instead, Spike purposefully threw a few shots so the turns went back and forth regularly, offering him a longer opportunity to study the man behind the counter.

Slow, portly, and in ill health. Joe ambled around huffing each breath in a tight wheeze. He barely stood longer than a few minutes at a time before flopping down into a chair sucking on a liquor bottle like an infant.

After Spike narrowly won the first game, his opponent begged for a second. Anteing up, they began again. With Joe in the office, Spike found the lure too much when he spied a drop shot laid out. Screw it, how many would remember him after all these years? He struck the cue ball into an airborne arc. It fell and collided with the rail, rebounding into his target. The six and seven balls careened toward the center pockets on either side of the table. Six dropping in before seven.

His opponent, stood wide-eyed. “Well, hot damn! I haven't seen that move in years. Not since that kid Joe kept around here ran the tables.”

Spike lined up the eight ball on a rebound into his near right corner pocket. “Kid?”

“Yeah. Scrawny little thing. But never seen a pool shark like 'em. Not before or since.”

Drawing back the cue, Spike had to know. “What happened to him?”

The man shrugged. “Who knows. He just vanished one day. Shame too, I still had a bet going that I would one day win against him.”

“Too bad you'll never get the chance.” The cue struck on target. With a clatter the eight ball tipped into the called pocket.

Laughing, the man waved a hand. “Looks like it's not my night. I can't afford another round.”

Spike lit a fresh cigarette and waved back. “Thanks for the game.”

The door opened and closed. The last straggler had unwittingly left Spike alone with Joe. Exercising patience, Spike racked the balls and chalked the cue. Joe emerged and cast a glance Spike's way. “Hey, singles will still cost a full.”

“I know. Been a while since I had the chance to play. Wanted to get a bit more practice in.” Spike's half lidded stare locked on him, studying for any sign of recognition. There wasn't a shred of it.

“Long as you pay for the games, don't care what you do.” Joe cleaned and stacked some glasses.

_You might want to care, you heartless prick._ Spike delivered a hard break shot, hopping the eleven ball off the table and into the stack of glasses, the top half of a shattered one remained in Joe's hand. 

He jerked back, dropping what was left of the glass to shatter on the ground. “What the fuck! Where'd you learn to play? The balls stay on the table!”

Spike leaned on the pool cue. “Oops.”

“I mean it! You're gonna pay for that.”

“Really?” Spike leaned over the table and drove the cue ball into the seven sending it flying. Distracted, Joe didn't see it. The ball smacked him in the temple. 

He staggered back howling. “What is wrong with you!”

“I could ask the same of you.” Spike glared at him from across the hall. Only a pool table and the bar counter separated them. 

Rubbing his head, Joe scowled back. “You got a problem with me, boy?”

Spike half lidded his eyes. “You could say I do.  **Uncle Joe.** ”

Joe's complexion shot pale. He blinked and shook his head. “Couldn't be. No … there's no way.” His hand started to reach down under the counter. 

That wasn't going to happen. Spike reached back under his jacket and caught the hilt of a small hidden throwing knife. In a deft move he flicked it. The blade sang through the air until it buried into Joe's upper arm, putting an end to his objective; grabbing the shotgun hidden under the counter.

Spike rolled his fingers on the pool cue. “Think a couple of slugs will save your ass? Not anymore.”

Joe grabbed his arm, blood seeped between his fingers as he fell backward against the wall. “You can't be!”

“Did you forget? Did I mean that little to you? You were the fool who pawned me off to a syndicate specializing in assassinations. What did you think would happen?” Closing the distance, Spike relished the feverish glint in Joe's eyes as he vaulted the counter in a move he'd executed regularly as a boy. What a difference it must be to see a grown man pull that off. With the pool cue, Spike rammed open the drop door in the wall where he used to deposit all the loot he'd pickpocket during the cons. No one had suspected a child like he'd been would be capable of pinching their wallets while sharking the table. And nobody but Joe and Spike knew about that box built into the wall. “I can assure you, I haven't forgotten every single lesson you taught me.”

Joe blubbered, cowering under the stare. What a difference. If Joe could muster the courage to stand upright Spike only had an inch or two on him. But that had not been the case years ago. Years ago the man towered over him in a bulky, unmovable mass. The odds had changed. The man had the weight, but Spike knew how to use it against him. “Sp—Spike!”

He nodded slowly. “I've come back after learning some new skills. Thought I might let you see what I'm like under a  _real_ master.”

Swallowing, Joe gripped his arm tighter. “No … please no! I don't pull in enough for a protection fee!”

“Protection fee?” Spike laughed and yanked the blade out his arm, watching as Joe screamed and writhed, more blood soaking his shirt. “Fuck no. I'm not here for the Red Dragons. Well, I am, but I wasn't assigned to extort you. Nobody gives a shit about a little prick like you. I'm in the neighborhood on another task. The reason I stopped by this pit isn't business,” he held up the pool cue, “it's personal pleasure.”

Joe screamed as Spike shattered the cue against his rib cage. Splinters of wood stuck out from the shirt fabric, now blossoming in red. There wasn't much time for Joe to contemplate that. Spike delivered a hard kick, bending Joe's knee sideways with a sickening snap. He went down into a tear soaked pile.

Grabbing his collar, Spike dragged him up forcing him to stand. “What's the problem? On your feet, pathetic worm. You have a job to do.”

All Joe could manage was a whimpering stutter.

“I'm not a child you can push around anymore!” Spike smirked and lifting him overhead threw him into the bar, smashing the bottles and the taps. Glass pierced Joe's skin, alcohol soaked into the open wounds. On the floor Joe curled into a ball, sobbing something that sounded like begging for mercy.

Spike huffed a laugh. “What was that? Oh … ok, I hear you.” Grabbing Joe's wrist, Spike dragged him across the floor and out the doorway. The puddles tinted red beneath the streetlight as they rounded the corner into the back alleyways. 

A short distance away, near some rooted-through trash cans, Spike dropped Joe into a muddy puddle and started to collect empty beer cans. He made a stack out of them at the end of the alley, his eye always on the trembling man struggling to crawl away, but only managing a few inches before he collapsed in the mire. 

“Hard to stand with a fucked up leg, isn't it.” Spike set the last can on top, striding back to Joe he picked up a stone. He bent down and grinned into the terrified man's face. “How about we see how fast you can run. Time to feed the dogs.”

The remainder of the color drained from Joe's pale face as Spike stood and chucked the stone at the stacked cans. The clatter echoed through the streets until silence once more descended. 

“Better get up, Joe. Or this will get very bad for you.” The silence didn't remain. Seconds later the alley filled with the savage howls of a pack of stray dogs. Spike waited for them to glimpse him before he dashed toward the wall and leaped up, catching the bottom rung of the fire escape with ease and flipping up onto the landing. With Spike tucked well out of reach, the pack's attention focused on the frantic man flopping around in a bloody puddle trying to stand. His cries echoed off the brick walls mingled with the dogs tearing and ripping into him from different directions. A flesh laden tug of war.

“Help me!” Joe tried to reach up, his eyes desperate through the brutal onslaught of the hungry dogs.

From his perch, Spike sat with his arms crossed and snuffed. “Why? Oh, that's right, you provided a roof over my head. So I  _should_ be grateful.”

“Please!” Joe panted, his fist impotently pounding at a mange eaten dog trying to get his neck. “Help me, Spike!”

Lighting a cigarette, Spike leaned back. “Lying in the alley kinda sucks, doesn't it.”

“They're gonna kill me!”

Spike pulled out his Jericho and flicked off the safety. “You think I'm going to let them have you? Heh. You're a bigger fool than I thought.” Aiming at Joe, Spike watched the terror flicker in the man's eyes before he turned the gun to the side. The shot rang out, the bullet tore a small crater in the alley. 

In a rush the pack turned and fled, abandoning their squirming meal to evade the threat of the gun.

Spike dropped down and stalked toward Joe. A cold smile on his face as he studied the patterns of lacerations and missing chunks of flesh all over his limbs. One of the dogs had indeed managed to get his neck. The pulse of his frantic heart beat showed in the flow of the red river. Joe didn't even try to rise as the rain pattered down. He mouthed silently, trying to speak through the choking fluid.

“Get up.” Spike mocked him. “It's not that dangerous out here. Just a few mongrels. Nothing more. Cept that dogs can smell blood a mile away. And Joe … this is a lot of blood. Dawn isn't coming for a good half the night.”

Joe coughed and moaned, his eyes threatening to roll back.

Spike grabbed him by the collar. “A mere boy handled them, but you're a grown man. So you should be fine. Come on, get up and walk back there. Walk back! Do you know how many nights you left me to that fate, waiting for the damn sun to rise so you'd unlock the bloody door? How many times I literally dragged myself through these streets? Do you remember all the times I begged you for help, begged you not to throw me out after I had struggled just to stay on my feet that day playing your con limited to balancing on one leg while you drank yourself blind in the back office? How many times did you dress my wounds? Never, Joe! Not once. You stole everything from me.”

The color of his skin continued to fade. His jaw moved, bubbles of blood in his mouth formed and popped.

“Tsh. Aww, so the dogs got you. Got you pretty damn good.” Spike threw the man's own words back at him as he dragged Joe back toward the pool hall through the empty streets and back into the building. Inside, he dropped Joe's barely conscious body behind the bar. 

Emptying the drop box and the register of its meager contents, Spike made certain everything of value, including the shotgun and amo, was packed into a bag he slung over his shoulder. Then, taking a bottle of vodka he shoved a rag into the mouth and crouched down beside Joe, watching the faint light flickering in his eyes. 

“You know, vodka is great for making sure wounds don't get infected. Hurts like hell, but usually does the trick.” He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and touched it to the rag, waiting for it to catch fire. The moment it blazed up, he held the bottle and grinned. “Thanks for the memories, Joe.”

As he walked out, Spike lobbed the bottle over his shoulder. The molotov cocktail smashed into the alcohol soaked floor. Staring from outside, Spike watched as the flames consumed the building and licked the glass, casting a shadow of the hall's name on the street. 

*

Faye held the blanket up to her chest, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging loose. Her heart raced. She had seen Spike take down bounties before. Seen him fight with abandon. But the story he'd just told, as easy as if he were delivering instructions on how to repair a monocraft, chilled her. Such a cold blooded murder. And yet, she stopped herself short of full sympathy. That man had been deplorable to a small boy, not just one night, but for years. A boy who had initially trusted him.

Still lying on his back, Spike half-lidded his eyes and sighed. “No point in putting a bounty on a charred corpse. I would have made it last longer, sicked the dogs on him multiple times, but I had an appointment I had to keep. Mao would have been mad if I'd shirked what I'd really been sent there to do.”

“Spike, are you sure that he's really gone?” A thread of fear ran through her at the thought of a hideously disfigured man showing up for a long overdue vengeance. 

Spike's eyes shifted at her, incredulous. “You think I didn't stay long enough to make sure he was reduced to charcoal? Shit, Faye, of course I stayed. I'd been doing hit jobs long enough to cover my ass. That building had so much beer soaked into the wood it was a flash fire. Scorched all the evidence that I'd been there, just in case. Didn't want anyone following up on me, that also would have pissed Mao off.”

“Wait a minute, so no one came to put the fire out?”

“Are you joking? Nope. Nine times out of ten a fire in that crater was a hit. Not even the cops risked running into any of us out there. They'd show up after the last ember cooled. I was long gone by then.” Spike shrugged. “News still got out. When I was done and back in Tharsis Mao summoned me and asked if I had … done anything extra while I was there. He knew, even before I told him, the work was mine. I was lucky, carrying out an unsanctioned hit can be trouble. And yet Mao grinned at me and asked what had taken so long. He'd picked me out for that Deseado run not just because I'd know the streets, but because he figured a visit was long overdue and I hadn't taken the initiative myself. I suppose there is a bit of karmatic humor in Joe's mantra. He always talked about turning the odds in your favor, taught me how to rig the damn games if things didn't fall right. It's because of him that I even saw my chance to flip the odds. He was just doing it to me because he was a greedy son of a bitch. I did it to him because I was sick of starving.” 

Faye hugged herself, not certain of what to say.

Spike stretched and rolled out of bed. “So, what's for breakfast?”


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

“The tango.” Fernando stomped his foot, flashing a pose. “A dance known for provocative displays of passion and the stalking-like motion of cats after prey. The key element is in keeping the center of balance low and steady in the movements across the floor.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. They had a practice room to just the two of them for now, Faye would join them once Spike had a private lesson on the basic choreography. He had his hands in his pockets, dressed in sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, since Faye shrieked bloody murder about him even suggesting exiting the room without a shirt on. He was surprised she didn't say anything about his hair, washed but not re-tamed. One little victory, he'd take it while he could.

Fernando flashed another pose. “Partners move and respond to one another in a cooperative dance. There are of course several versions. There is the simple tango, closed form concentrating on crisp movements as the couple commands the dance floor. Then there are the more popular exhibition forms including the fantasia which incorporates a number of open moves like spins, lifts, boleos and ganchos.”

“Gancho?” Spike scratched his head.

“The hook. It's a move where one partner wraps their leg around the other partner. But before we get to that,” he bent his knees and did a slow forward creep across the floor, “how low can you maintain your balance and still stepped forward and back?”

Suddenly this felt like being back in the dojo under his sensei. Stoically, Spike bent his knees and settled down deep, copying the graceful glide Fernando had demonstrated.

The man's eyes widened. “That low? Wow! Alright, and for the gancho, how high can you lift your leg while maintaining a tight balance.”

Spike performed a slow crescent kick to the point of his leg practically vertical. Despite being on the cruise ship, he'd maintained a practice schedule in the confines of their stateroom.

“Astonishing.” Fernando's eyebrows raised. “Tell me, what is your training in?”

“Jeet Kune Do.”

“What level?”

“Lethal.”

Fernando rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes. “And Faye?”

Spike shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, she can move. Seen that woman kick more than a few guy's asses. Not mine, but she'd still be a challenge if she ever truly decided to take me on.”

With a swift nod, Fernando clapped his hands. “Aggressive form, it is. That should suit both of you nicely.”

“There's an aggressive form? Interesting.”

“Oh yes.” Fernando grinned. “As long as both dancers are capable of handling the motions, there is a form that utilizes momentum. The boleo is a whip-like transfer from leader to follower.” His smile grew even wider. “And with the music Faye selected this will be even more impressive. Many couples select swifter pieces of music, using the speed to drive their performance. Faster is actually easier. A more impressive performance is to hold the intensity with a slower tempo. And she was absolutely correct when I questioned her choice before actually meeting you. With your discipline you should be able to maintain the slower holds where the more typical dancers would probably tremble. That you don't want.”

Spike furrowed his brow. “Wait a minute … did Faye complement me?”

He held up his hands. “I merely asked her for clarification. She said you'd be more than a match for the challenge despite my reservations.”

“Huh.” Spike shook his head. That was rather odd. Perhaps it had more to do with her gamble. After all, that was a nice prize. Then it struck him. If they won, they'd have to play the con as the Sterlings all over again next year. Did she really want to shoot for a win? Or was this slower tempo meant to torture him on the dance floor, knowing he wouldn't back down. Whatever it was, he shrugged a shoulder. “Alright, lets get these basics down.”

Fernando smiled. “We have the foundation step on the count of one-two in an eight count tempo. Then in the aggressive form we add in the ochos, ganchos, boleos, and of course laying the partner out in a low dip. In this performance the point is to stun the judges with a sultry performance. The faster couples will zip around in a packed, flashy routine. But those with the stamina and core strength to hold the moves intensely will score higher. And I have a few ideas for the routine. Alright, copy me.”

_Yup, just like old times._

*

Faye settled into Spike's grip. Their shoulders in line. He took the step and snapped her shoulders one direction, immediately following it with a return to the other direction. The result was a twist as Faye let the motion delay the transfer through her hips. Her inside foot kicked across the back of her leg in the whip-like boleo before she returned into line and stepped back into Spike's lead.

He stared into her eyes as she smiled, confidence beamed in her expression as she let him lead. He spun her off to the side and brought her back in close, her leg wrapped around his as he leaned into her, his arm bracing her. They locked into the pose, the load on their cores significant. But her muscles didn't spasm against his bracing arm. They held steady. A calm stare met his own. Faye stepped up to the maneuver they had already performed three times to get the timing right. According to Fernando, their stalled hold would be nearly twice the length of any other couple, and right in time with the music. 

Releasing the hold, Spike whipped her into another spin, settling her back against his chest as he ran a hand down the outside of her leg. Faye arced with the motion, tucking her head to the side beneath his chin. 

“Good!” Fernando clapped his hand. “The movements are looking solid, nice and controlled, especially on the spins and the boleos.”

Breaking the pose, Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Easy to manipulate, Faye's lighter than what I'm used to throwing around.”

“Very funny, Spike.” Faye planted a hand on her hip. Belatedly, she turned to him and cocked her head. “Wait … was that a complement?”

Spike suddenly found the wall very interesting. 

“Alright.” Fernando looked over the notes. “I think you've got the full routine down. Now we just need to add a little more flare.” He plucked a long stem red rose, minus the thorns, from a vase and held it out to Faye. “For the lady, between the teeth if you can. And remember as we do this again, channel the passion. You two are _supposed_ to be on your honeymoon, after all.”

The bright red rose captured Spike's attention, the scent filled his nostrils colliding with all the impact of a bullet to the chest. His heart raced for a moment, drawn back in time … a dozen red roses bundled together, the rainy streets of Tharsis. He shut his eyes briefly.  _Julia _ … 

“Spike?” Faye touched his shoulder. “You ready?”

Brought back to the present, he blinked. “Yeah, I was just thinking things through. I got it.” He reached out a hand for hers. How to make this play out? Intensity, passion. “Hey, Fernando, what if we start with me giving the rose to Faye?”

He snapped his fingers. “Let's try it. The music allows for an approach across the floor rather than starting together. Closing into her, could work.”

Spike took the rose in his hand and facing away from Faye stared deep into the petals. He remembered the scent of her perfume—sweet bay and roses. He recalled the soft caress of her hands on his skin. Her voice whispered in his ear,  _“Why did you love me?”_

To Fernando's clapped cadence, Spike turned and locked his eyes on Faye. The rose held up high, he began the approach …

*

Sitting across from one another on the couch, Faye glanced at the cards in her hand. Two small pair, threes and fives. Not the best hand. But as she glanced up Spike didn't seem to have a better one. Of course knowing him that was just a poker face. He was so adept at hiding things, she could never be sure. He pushed about a third of his chips forward and glanced up at her. No gambling on the ship, well maybe it didn't count if it was just between them, right? And she was the one who had stumbled on the game cupboard.

Faye pondered for a moment. A third for Spike was a measly amount. He usually went higher. She stared at the two small pairs and sighed. The mismatched queen of hearts winked at her, daring her. Pushing about half of her chips forward she grinned at him.  _Come on, ante up._

Spike reached down and pushed the remainder of his chips forward.

_What? _ It was only a game for fun, and yet beads of sweat formed on her brow. She stared at the cards, halfway between folding and going all in. He had that damned half-lidded expression. Eyes not open enough to read. Not open enough to reflect his hand, damn it! What to do. All in, or fold? The hand wasn't that great. Her eyes shifted back and forth. Her hand hovered over the chips.  _Yes. No. Do it! Don't. SHIT!_

At last she laid her cards face down. 

Spike snorted a laugh. “You fold? Alright.” He collected the chips.

The way he said that rankled her. Leaning forward she tried to grab his cards. “Wait a minute. What do you have?”

He tugged them out of the way and laughed. “Should it matter? You folded.”

“Yes. I want to know what I lost to!” She flipped her cards over.

Spike leaned forward and gawked. “You should have stayed in!” He placed the cards one by one. Jack of clubs, two of hearts, five of spades, nine of diamonds, and the last one he dropped with a flourish, the ace of spades.

Faye hunched over the hand like a vulture. “You have nothing!”

He shrugged. 

“You had nothing, but you went all in! Why?”

His elbow rested on a knee, chin in the palm as he grinned. “Cause you're predictable, Faye. You can't resist a high stake.”

She folded her arms and glared at him. But the glare didn't last. Wait, if he knew … that meant he'd been paying attention enough to notice. Certainly she knew her own bad habit. Not that she could resist. Her face fell into her hands. “Damn it. Is it that obvious?”

Spike picked up the cards and shuffled them. “No, call it a lucky guess.” The tone was cordial, but his expression sarcastic. 

Faye glanced at her chips. “Alright. I'm winning them back.”

“We'll see about that.” He let her cut the deck before passing out the hands.

“You better not have hidden cards.” 

He picked up his cards and laughed. “If I was pulling that would I have left myself with an empty hand last turn?”

She glanced at him. Unreadable again. And he didn't move his cards. Just looked at them in the order they'd been dealt. Her own hand spread out before her, she mused at the short run three hearts; the four, five, and six. The last two were a four of clubs, and a jack of diamonds. She plucked those two out and drew the top two cards. The three and seven of hearts! A straight flush. But she bit her lip. Pretending to consider.

Spike pulled one card and discarded it and drew the top. He slid it in on the end and glanced at Faye.

She instantly pushed the full pile forward and grinned. Time to gamble. Smugly she locked eyes with Spike. “Ok, are you in or folding?”

Spike met her bet. “No point in raising.”

Faye laid out her hand and smiled. “Straight flush.”

He spread his hand and pushed the chips to her. “Beats my three of a kind.” 

Her pulse quickened as the chips came to her. “My luck is turning!” She gathered the cards for another hand.

In the background the news caster rambled on.  _“ … the conference is scheduled in two months. Dr. Daniel Nicho Adenine will be presenting his research concerning the Europa Pox Virus. Officials are eager to learn if there is a reliable vaccine to protect the public against this epidemic. And if not, how close he is to developing one. According to the statistics the virus has been responsible for over two thousand deaths in the last year across Europa. The origins of this devastating disease is unknown, but is suspected to be tied to the migration pattern of the pigmy Euro-spar, a small song bird known to follow the bloom of mosquitoes.”_

Faye had paused in the shuffle as soon as she'd heard the name. “Spike, isn't that the doctor?”

He nodded. “Sure is.”

“Didn't he say his research wasn't anything.”

“Didn't his wife say he belittled his work?” He shrugged. “Not sure I like how no one knows where that virus came from. Reminds me of Alba city.”

“ … _in the meantime, tourism on Europa is declining. Though not official, many theorize that the threat of the virus is to blame.”_

Faye smirked. “I can't imagine why no one would want to visit a place where they could pick up a little something extra.”

“Welcome to Europa. Come for the tourism, stay cause you're dead.”


	11. Session 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tango to Evora", the composition in this session, is a real song. I had it on loop while writing this sequence. Loreena McKennitt's music is amazing. Take a listen if you want to see what this was choreographed to.

_ **Session 11** _

Faye had to hand it to Cygne, the dress was absolutely gorgeous. A deep red affair that looked straight out of the pages of a history book. A low scoop neckline on a bodice that fit her figure like a glove. The back plunged to just above her waist. Black ruffles lined the slit of the full skirt that ended halfway up her right thigh. In her hair Maxine had fit a garnet studded hair comb, holding half up in a wave. An onyx bracelet shimmered on her left wrist matching the choker necklace. She'd spun at least a dozen times in front of the mirror, disbelieving that the Spanish beauty was her.

The first solo dance where all eyes would be on them, this was the round where things got serious. All afternoon the expressions of the Espositos, last years smug winners, burned behind her closed eyelids every time she blinked. Their words echoed in her ears. It shouldn't matter. Their placement was a moot point, all she had to do was pass this round. With Fernando's coaching she knew that much was certain, provided something didn't happen in the actual performance.

From their table at the edge of the dance floor, they'd watched the couples step out in an array of skills. Fernando's assessment had proven sound thus far. Most of the routines favored a faster speed with lots of motion. For a handful that led to hasty mistakes and bad timing. She cringed as she thought of previous couple, the delay as the crew had to clean up the floor. The poor guy had taken a stiletto to the face when his foot slipped and he fell into a boleo. With that hit, his nose was surely busted, and so was the remainder of their rounds.

Only a few couples had embraced a display of the slow burn. By comparison there was no doubt why those dances would score higher. Anyone could flail around the dance floor. Holding the poses in time with the music allowed the judges time to admire precision.

Unfortunately, the Espositos knew that trick. Faye took refuge in sipping a glass of red wine while she watched the pair entwined on the dance floor. Their hands committed to the sensual embraces that spoke the language of love in tense whispers. Every move was executed with purpose. It was elegant. It was perfect. It opened a void in Faye that she could not ignore. An old companion. Envy.

She closed her eyes, shivering. The cold echo of shoes across the floor … the flash of bright fabric and the glitter of the gemstones beneath the light …. the ring of a cellphone—Her heart thundered. _No! Not that memory. Not now!_

The clink of a glass leaving the table mercifully drew her back. On the other side of the table, Spike took a gulp from his own wine glass. His hand sent tiny tremors in the surface as he set it down. Was he nervous? Their last rehearsal pass had gone well, they both had the moves down. His eyes flashed to the thorn-less long stem rose in the vase. The color of the petals rivaled the billowy ruffled shirt Fernando had matched to Faye's dress, a deep red like a fine Merlot wine. She didn't want to admit it, but back lit on the edge of the dance floor Spike cut quite the handsome figure. Especially with his hair re-tamed, shining in the lights.

“Spike,” she glanced at the listing board, “we're next.”

He took a deep breath, his posture stiffer than she was used to seeing him.

Envy's ember burned in her as she watch Carlos and Roberta strut across the floor, taking their bows to the explosive applause. It ignited into a full blaze when Roberta locked eyes with her and lifted her chin as she bowed their direction.

Faye clenched her jaw beneath a smile. The moment Roberta turned away she leaned to Spike and whispered. “Oh, that was a challenge. If little miss twinkle-toes thinks that she's gonna beat me, she's got another thing coming. Step it up, it's time to bury their reputation!”

Spike glanced at her. “Are you sure that's what you want?”

Faye's hand pumped into a fist. “I want to dominate this round.”

Slowly, Spike picked up his glass of wine and finished it in one swallow. By the time he set the empty glass on the table, the grip was firm. “Whatever happens—happens.” He squared his shoulders as the announcers' voices broke through the applause.

“That was Carlos and Roberta Esposito. And our next couple to take the floor is, let's see, #268 … oh yes! Spike and Faye Sterling.”

“This should be interesting, Derrick. As we've said before the tango is an ideal style to start paring down the field. Couples can tailor their performances to their strengths in the array of different styles from the closed upright postures, to the more sultry performance like we were just treated to. Wow, I think I need a bit of air after that.”

“Not a good idea to try and step outside, Veronica. It's a bit cold out there and rather devoid of oxygen.”

“And me without a spacesuit. I think I'll stay and see what approach this year's surprise couple has to the tango. Was the foxtrot a one-off shot? Will they play it safe or will we see a repeat of the knock down drag out challenge we saw a few years ago when the Espositos became the reigning champs.”

“That remains to be seen. New comers are always a thrill to watch. And with that I have the signal, the orchestra is ready for Spike and Faye Sterling dancing the _Tango to Evora_.”

“Hmm, that's a slow one, if I remember correctly. Looks like they might be throwing down the proverbial gauntlet.”

“Either that, or we'll be falling asleep.”

The spotlight hit their table. Spike reached over and gingerly took the rose from the vase as Faye stood and waved to the entire perimeter of the floor. She had further to go to reach her place. When she turned, placing her foot firm, Spike stood nearly facing away from her—just like in the rehearsal the rose low to his chest, his other hand cupping the blossom, eyes fixated on it. She had to admit, it was a bold start, rather poetic.

_Alright, lunkhead, _ Faye pinched the ruffle of her dress and tucked her chin, eyeing Spike through the fall of her hair, _ it's showtime._

The first chords of music drifted up, the longing strums on a guitar. Spike turned smoothly on the ball of his foot, his gaze left the rose and locked on Faye's eyes. That gaze … she hadn't prepared for the impact. His typical half lidded lazy gaze banished, in its place Spike's eyes blazed with a hunger, a yearning that drew her to lean forward into his prowling approach. 

As the harp and violin lent their voices, Spike dragged the rose's petals along her bare arm. They hadn't rehearsed this part … he was improvising. From the silk caress of the heady bloom goosebumps spread across her arm. She couldn't look away from his eyes. This close, in the spotlight's beam, that strange uneven effect of his irises stole her breath as he stalked into her space so close she had to tilt her head back to maintain the eye lock. She swore he stared into her soul, devouring her. He dragged the rose along her cheek, across her forehead, completing the arc by pulling the stem in between her lips. 

Faye caught the stem and snapped her head as Spike took the first step across her into the planned routine. She slid her foot back in tandem with him, locked in the intensity of his grasp. He held her firm in the slow step, drawing it out for the full beat of the music.

This was like the practice, and yet … something was different. The ballroom faded away. Locked in this dance, in his arms, nothing else seemed to matter. Desire's grip steeled her hands, she didn't want to let go. When she pulled him tighter, his fingers responded and dug deeper into her flesh. A grasp filled with desperation, as if those hands believed letting go would result in a great loss. Faye swayed into a tight double gancho, first the outside, then in. In a slow measured spin, Spike brought her in so close their foreheads pressed together. She couldn't tell if it was from him or her, sweat bloomed on both their skin. The heat intensified his cologne mixing with the rose, almost fighting with it.

Lost in the movement of the give and take choreography, they sank into the postures. Deeper than in practice, each grasp rawer as the dance's story threatened to pull them apart and they clung to one another in a desperation that unleashed itself. Her back pressed against his chest, their hearts raced in tandem. She reached her arm over her shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him down. He scraped his teeth against her neck, tender and savage in one gesture. A primal ache throbbed in her like an old wound. As his fingers traced her collarbone Faye shivered craving only one thing. She stared into his eyes, into the reflection of her own desire.

Had he really been hiding it all along? There wasn't time to ponder as the music drove them onward in the winding tale.

Placing a foot together between them, they started with a hand on each other's shoulder and leaned away. Their hands traced back the full arm length, gripping each other's wrist. They held the pose as the violin's melody thrashed. Then, in a swift flick Spike pulled her back in a recoil into his arms, his hand tracing up her bare thigh as she arched into the sensation.

He bent over her and bit the end of the rose stem, tugging it from her grasp. Around it, each breath was a panting gasp, echoing her own. But it wasn't over. She lifted her leg settling her foot into Spike's waiting grip. He took her upper hand and she fell back, her other hand brushed the floor. Once she was firm, he let go of her hand. Faye lay out, held only by the hand trapping her ankle. Her core held tight as Spike gave a subtle squeeze on her ankle, the critical cue. He released his hold. She rapidly resettled her balance, to float on one foot. Spike gave her leg a firm push. She rotated into his embrace as he glided them both down.

Cradled in his arms, she stared up into his eyes and smiled. The rose stem gripped in his teeth, he huffed each breath around it as the violin trembled on the last chord. The lights shined brightly, glistening off their skin and casting deep shadows.

_Don't lift me. Let me stay here, forever. I can't say it, but this is what I want!_

Silence reigned for several heartbeats before applause broke out. 

The moment ended. As reality descended, Spike's gaze broke away to the tables lining the floor. Faye gripped his shoulder as he brought her up. She smiled and waved outward. Her heart raced. That would be a contending performance. There was no way it wasn't. But that became overshadowed as she glanced back at Spike. Where had _ that_ come from? Unbridled, raw, that was a connection! Who knew beneath that exterior he could be so passionate? The dance finished, all she wanted to do was fold into it again, even though her core ached from holding the tense poses. That was too much for a repeat performance without a rest.

The spotlight followed them as they left the floor for the tables along the edges. Spike still held the rose stem, now in his hands. He wiped his forehead with the back of his empty hand.

The light shown on them. Faye turned into it and smiled wider. Couples crowded the table in a rush of congratulations and questions. Too many for her to follow. She blushed in the tidal wave of attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Derrick's voice called out, “The gauntlet has been thrown down! Veronica do you have anything to add? Veronica? … Ok well, the scores from the judging will not be posted until after the final couple. I uh … wow, I wouldn't want to follow that performance. But someone has to. So next we have … ”

Faye turned, “Oh Spike, that … Spike?” She glanced through the crowd around the floor. No sign of him, and the throng was too tight to push her way through. However Roberta's heated glare bore into her from across the room. Faye lifted her wine glass and offered her a cocky grin.  _Touche, bitch._

*

Spike's hand shook hard enough he almost burnt his fingers trying to light a cigarette. Everyone was still in the ballroom, thankfully. Alone out in the hall, a good distance from the crowd, his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest. Leaning against the wall, he inhaled the smoke, panting out each breath in between. His fingers traced the stem of the rose he'd set on the hall table. 

In the corner of his left eye his vision blurred, a tear pooling. Something his synthetic eye couldn't do. He tried to scrub the tear away, only to have another replace it.

“Damn it.” He sniffed, fighting to keep his voice low, knowing he'd been reduced to a blubbering fool. No, just a fool! “I didn't mean to! I swear it. I didn't mean to go that far. To tarnish … oh shit … it felt so real. I wanted so badly for it to be real … to be you. And for a moment to me … it was. I couldn't resist.”

He picked up the bloom and slid down the wall, hunched over it. The scent a punishing reminder. “You know me, I did what I had to … but I didn't think it through. It got away from me.” He shut his eyes tight, white knuckling the rose. “I'm sorry, Julia. I'm so sorry. Please … forgive me.”

*

The time ticked away. Another hour. Midnight. Faye walked across the suite floor for the countless time and glanced out the door both ways. Nothing. Still in her dress she padded back and forth, a tiger in a cage. 

Where was he? There'd been no alarms. No commotion, and if he had gotten into trouble everyone on the ship would know. After the dance that pried her deep desire to the surface, Spike had simply … vanished. No words. No nothing. She'd expected him to be here. 

He hadn't even stayed to learn the score. She savored the shock when the Espositos had to settle for second place. But one glance at the cold, empty bed and that thrill eclipsed behind a dark moon. 

A crack formed in the shield keeping a notion avalanche at bay. That crack rapidly spread into a chasm.

If he'd actually meant it like she had believed … tears began to well in her eyes ... if those caresses had been real he would be here now. Lying beneath the covers, holding her close. Her memory tormented her with the pressure of his hands, so much so that she traced the path along her collarbone. 

Hollow, she shivered as the sensation gutted her. Her face fell into her hands as she collapsed against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest.

She sobbed into tear drenched hands. “Oh God! I'm such a fool to think he actually meant it!” Curling into herself, she lost any ability to hold it in. Bitter words from an old romance novel echoed in her thoughts,  _better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. _ Too long adrift in isolation, the taste of that briefly materialized dream shattered her heart. 


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

In the dimmed suite, Spike swung into a normal shirt and buttoned it up over a sleeveless undershirt, his fingers slipping on every other one. Not even finished, he dug back into his bag riffling through and muttering just above a whisper. “Where are the damn things, I know I packed them.”

The covers shifted on the bed behind him. He stiffened.  _Don't say anything. Don't say anything. She's still asleep. Please let her be still asleep. If you can make it there and back with a break in the bounty hunt everything will be fine._

Of course the whole damn plan would fall through without the—

“Spike?” Faye's voice froze him solid. Was that tone curious or was that cold?

It was early in the morning. Frankly he hadn't even eyed the clock. Just knew that the decks had still been rather deserted. The only activity he'd seen out and about had been Jim Lansing, returning to his suite in the company of another man Spike hadn't been able to get a clear look at. Business talk as they walked. Too early for business, which clearly meant something covert. That had been over an hour ago, he thought, tough to gauge time under the circumstances. This discovery provided the perfect opportunity to gather intel, as the Lansing's had a special breakfast scheduled. He reached into the pocket of the bag, found it empty and swore.

Faye slipped out of bed, her footsteps crossed the floor. “Spike, where have you been?” Calm, controlled.

_Too controlled. She's not happy. _Still rifling through his bag, Spike blurted, “Roaming the halls, needed a walk.”

“All night?”

“Uhh yeah, I guess.” The words tumbled out in a rush he couldn't stop. “Good thing too, or I wouldn't have overheard Lansing. Something up with that guy. Came here to get my gear. Go take a look in their room.”

Faye's hand on his shoulder wrenched him around. She stared down at his hands before slowly raising her gaze up at him, half removed make-up on her face. “Why are you so jittery?”

“Jittery?” He laughed and shrugged.

“Yes. Jittery and talking so damn fast.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you hopped up on caffeine?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he lifted a shoulder. “I uhh... hrm, maybe? Hey, did you know that on the third deck there is this little automatic drink machine. How much is in those tiny little coffee things?”

“You mean an espresso?” She crossed her arms. “How many did you have?”

Quickly, he ticked it off on his fingers alongside his memories of forming his great plan.

“Spike!” Her eyes shot wide. “You drank six of them?”

“Unless I forgot one, yeah. This is quite the rush. But, have you seen my lock picks anywhere? I can get into the room without them, but not without leaving evidence.”

Her hands went to her hips, eyebrow twitching. “You've been wandering the decks aimlessly for the night eavesdropping, planning on breaking into rooms all while chugging espressos?”

“Ummm yes, that's what I said.” The last word cut a bit short as Spike's breath left in one explosive rush. Faye's fist sucker-punched him right in the gut so fast and unexpected he didn't have a chance to prepare for it. The force sent him staggered back until he caught his weight against the wall bent over. _Oh shit, she's really mad._

“You **son of a bitch**! How could you do that to me?” Faye stalked toward him, fists brandished.

Spike tried to say something, but even despite his lack of breath he had nothing. That was the main reason he'd been haunting the hallways all blasted night. He had no way of explaining what had truly happened without making it infinitely worse.

When he didn't reply Faye grabbed his collar and snarled in his face. “You asshole!You seduced me!”

Normally he would have countered with some snide remark and found a way to twist out of the hold. But after a long rather panic-stricken night, the electrical charge of the caffeine high, and hampered by a rather massive load of guilt Spike could only manage to stutter, “I didn't mean to! Uh, well I did … but not in that way, I didn't mean it like that.” Every word only darkened her glare over him. “Oh shit! Really should just shut up.”

Her teeth ground enough to squeal. “Oh no. Please don't. I want to hear what you thought you were doing out there on the dance floor before you abandoned me.”

Spike cringed.  _I can't … if I told her the truth … _ “Faye … ” his voice cracked, “you … you said you wanted to win.”

Faye yanked him forward. It jarred where she had punched him. “That doesn't give you the right to be a dick!”

“We're supposed to be in love … it's part of the ruse.” Spike stiffed as he realized too late it only flared the anger in her eyes into an inferno.

“Ruse? Is that what you call last night? A ruse?” She raised a fist and shook it in front of his eyes. Her other hand still fisting his shirt collar he could only turn away from it. “You can't touch a woman like **that** and call it a damn ruse! Not only that, but to up and disappear without even a word! I knew you could be an inconsiderate prick, but this is a whole new low!”

When she stopped to take a breath, Spike cracked an eye open. “Faye, there's something up with the Lansings. I just know it. Once I can check out their room I'm sure I'll have something, maybe even our marks!”

“The Lansings.” She pursed her lips. “The bounty.”

_Crap, that just made things worse._

“I can't even look at you right now without wanting to bury you!” She opened the door and threw him out into the hall.

Having landed on his hands and knees, Spike stared up at the closed door. “Faye? Please let me back in. I'm sorry. I really mean it.”

The door opened, long enough to chuck his bag onto his head.

*

Fernando scratched his temple, sitting forward on the bed in his cluttered servant room, all around bits of costumes scattered in various stages of completion. “Let me see if I got this right, Spike. So your brilliant idea to increase the chances of scoring high in the tango round was to channel your feelings for and superimpose your dead girlfriend onto Faye?”

Lying back in the chair, Spike held an ice pack to his gut and nodded solemnly. “There's considerably more to it, but that's close enough. You get the idea.” He hated laying even a fraction of this on the table, but Fernando was one of the few on board who knew about their true purpose, and he couldn't reach Jet without his phone. Turned out that was still in the suite with Faye. Not that Spike was sure he'd get much more than a chastising laughing fit out of his partner if he could reach him anyway.

“Well, you asked my opinion,” the older man laughed without mirth, “you have it right. You are a dead man walking.”

He hung his head. “I hadn't intended things to go that far.”

“No man ever does. Doesn't change a damn thing.” Fernando flipped his hand in the air. “You still did it and she picked up the message you were sending whether you meant it or not. That performance was a regular Don Juan out there on the dance floor. You set a bull charging and you even flaunted a damn red cap in the process, might as well have been the paso doble. Can't say I blame her for hitting you. Surprised she didn't do worse.”

“Should I go fetch the salt shaker so you can rub it in?” Spike grumbled. “I told you she could deck a guy. I wasn't ready for it. In hind sight I should have been.” He heaved a sigh, even though that hurt. “And I know, I was an ass … I deserved it. It's why I didn't fight back. Now I don't have a clue what to do to smooth this over.”

“You're crashing out from a caffeine high, probably doesn't help when it comes to scheming.” Fernando's phone beeped, he picked it up read a message and typed back, firing off a reply. No sooner had that happened then another message appeared. He exhaled slowly. “But to be honest, there isn't anything you can do or say that won't dig your grave any deeper. You're just gonna have to weather the storm of the century your actions whipped up.”

“You know, no one asked me about how I felt about this whole charade.” He held up the his left hand, showing the silver fake wedding ring. “Faye just dragged me into this without asking.”

Fernando mused for a moment. “There is a difference between the cons, whether you like it or not. Faye was clear in her deception. You, on the other hand, didn't tell her what you were doing. And you admitted to knowing she had feelings for you. That was destined to backfire the moment you put it in motion.”

Spike sunk lower in the chair

He patted his knee. “I don't envy you. You've dangled a steak in front of a starved tiger then locked yourself in the cage with her, throwing the key away. Basically, your stupidity means you better sleep with one eye open and a can of tiger repellent.”

Spike shifted the ice pack. “Urf. Not sure that is going to do the trick.”

“Oh, it won't. She'll probably get her revenge on the dance floor.” Fernando grinned. “You do know what the next round features, right? It's the lambada.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike laid his head back. “Great. Just hand her a knife and let her fillet me now, it'll be kinder.”

“We'll find out, rehearsal is in three hours. Doubt she'll let you back into that suite. My room's not as nice as yours was, but it's probably safer. In the meantime I think I'll have my wife join us for damage control during this rehearsal, otherwise I'll be out of a job if Faye kills you.”

Spike blinked. “Wife?”

He laughed and gestured to the other side of the bed. “You think they give large beds to unmarried couples? Yes, my wife, Cygne.”

Only now did it register that the costume bits weren't just his, Faye's attire also lined the room. He really should have caught that. Rubbing his face he mumbled, realizing how damn out of it this whole affair had sent him.

“Don't worry, Cygne and I have handled some pretty spectacular drama around the circuit. This actually isn't the worst I have seen. Things happen. We had our own dramatic faux pas back in the day when we were champions.”

“You two competed?”

Fernando smiled wistfully. “Oh yes. When we were younger it was our life, touring the stars and burning up the dance floor. Those days are over. It's why we started the business. There's a lot more involved in dancing competitions than many think. It was Cygne's idea to keep us involved in our passion. I couldn't be happier. Well, I could, if this weren't derailed by a serious misunderstanding. But the good news is your score combination is high enough that this next dance isn't as critical. There is no way you're going to save this round. However, all you have to do is complete it without a major disqualifying mistake and you'll stay in the running. Hopefully we can smooth things out before the next round.”

*

“That low-life scumbag!” Faye stormed back and forth across the suite floor. “How could he play me like that? Men are absolute pigs that deserve to be skewered and roasted alive over a fire! TWICE!”

Cygne shook her head. “I can't believe he left you there and didn't show up till this morning. Not only that, but with that lame explanation.”

Beside her, Maxine clenched a fist. “That was pretty damn low. What does he think you are, a machine he can just flick the knob, turn things off and on as he likes? Damn girl. And you only socked him in the gut for it? Shoulda aimed lower!”

Faye crossed her arms. “Too small a target.”

Maxine cringed. “Oooo burn! Too bad fuzzhead wasn't here for that.”

“I don't want him here. I don't want to hear him. I don't want to see him.” Her blood boiled. “I want to shove him outside until he turns blue!”

Cygne crossed the room and patted her shoulder. “While that's possibly what he deserves, that would make the next round a little impossible. They don't allow dancing with corpses.”

Faye's eyes burned. “I don't care about the contest anymore. Or even the hunt. Did you see what he did? The way he handled me? It's not fair! Oh God … I wanted him so bad!”

“Honey,” Maxine shifted up onto the arm of the couch and grinned, “the whole of the system saw what that boy did to you. And that boy is a wild mustang. You don't ride a mustang without an invitation. But I'll tell you, I'd like to take a turn on that pony, even if he'd buck me off.”

Faye and Cygne locked eyes on her. Cygne smirked, “That's not helping.”

Heat rose to Faye's cheeks as she pounded her fist in her hand. “You see, that's his problem! Every time I turn around Spike's putting the moves on some floozy! Like that time at the casino, what was her name? Candy? Or was that just the color of her dress? Should have heard what he said to her. The one-liners he spits out are shameful. Like anyone would fall for those … ” It stung deeper as she pulled on her hair. “Only the bimbos do! Arg!”

Cygne sighed. “Faye, aside from the obvious issues last night, why do you care? You aren't really in a relationship with him, let alone married.”

“Because!” The diamond ring sparkled on her finger, taunting her. Faye resumed stalking the floor in a circle around the couch and coffee table. “What do they have that I don't? I mean, I've turned on countless guys over the last years. And trust me, those no account schmucks deserved everything I took from them. Just once in my life I dare to think that it's real from someone I've dared to get close to and it turns out he was still just playing the game. He conned me. That damn eavesdropping jerk knows what I woke up to years ago. He knows what Whitney did! He should have known better.”

“Should have,” Cygne pulled out her phone, and typed, “but men can be pretty oblivious. Even bounty hunters.” A beep came back, she read a message and cringed. “Oh dear.”

“That doesn't matter. Nothing excuses playing with the heart like that.”

Maxine cocked her head. “Even hooking a sizable bounty?”

“What are you talking about?” Faye snapped.

“Well, you did say you … ”

“That's not the same thing as seducing someone you actually know! Especially after stating it'll never happen!” Her heart pounded in her ears banishing all sound. The con on those scumbags wasn't the same thing. That was all business. Besides, men with bounties out on them were asking for trouble, they deserved everything they got. Spike was supposed to be a trusted teammate. He should've known better than to tease her heart with that … desire. She closed her eyes. Even now that lump in her chest weighed heavy. A shared bond that she wanted. A longing that Spike had openly mocked, leaving her in a limbo of wanting to embrace him and beat him to a bloody pulp in one tangled messed up ball. Why was this so damn confusing? She flopped down onto the couch beside Maxine.

Maxine took her hand. “Girl, you've been through a tango to hell. Don't matter what he meant, that boy done you wrong.”

Faye's hand tightened.

Standing in front of her, Cygne knelt down. “You have every right to be upset, and this is going to make things difficult for this next round. As hard as it is going to be, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Talk to that one-eyed-trouser snake? I don't even know where he's wandered off to.”

Cygne shrugged. “I do. But it won't matter what you want. In a few hours you have a scheduled rehearsal with him. And as much as it takes two to tango, the same applies for the lambada. You can't compete without your partner, no matter how much he pissed you off. So, let's get the worst of this out now so you can function.”

Faye raised an eyebrow. “I don't think you're ready for all this.”

“Try me.”


	13. Session 13

_ **Session 13** _

Fernando's hand claps marked the time. Spike stepped to it, swaying with the rhythm. Across from him, Faye swung her hips with the rhythm keeping a distance and a cool glare in her eyes as she stared above his shoulder. They moved in time, sort of.

“Alright, now close the distance. Clasp hands.”

Spike followed Fernando's instructions, tentatively approaching Faye even as she remained in place. He wasn't going to remark, and clearly neither was Fernando. _Just get through this. _The mantra ran through his aching head. By now the caffeine had fully crashed out of his system. Everything felt like moving through cotton, even his thoughts. It didn't matter, this room was only theirs for so long. He had to muster through this somehow.

“Faye, lift your hands. This is a couple's dance and will require contact.”

She lifted her hands with disinterest, but didn't reach out.

Spike sighed, something about her posture warned him not to close the gap. But if she wouldn't, he had to. There's no way to dance the lambada from a distance. According to Fernando's meticulous history lesson, that had been the reason the dance became known as _forbidden,_ during a time frame when Earthlings had an overzealous aversion to displays of affection. Pressing chest to chest, even fully clothed, was considered lewd behavior.

At the moment Spike wanted to refrain from that posture out of concern for his well-being. Faye had not uttered one word to him since she'd entered the room. That silence worried him. So far, he'd heeded Fernando's advice and kept his own mouth shut.

_Just. Get. Through. This._

Taking a deep breath, a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead as he reached out and took Faye's hands in a loose grasp. They moved in semi-tandem.

“Get it together. Feet closer, the step should be between. Swing, swing, swing … ”

On the step into Faye a sharp pain hitched Spike's step. He gritted his teeth and broke the high head hold. The heel of Faye's boot ground with a savage pronounced twist onto the top of his foot before drawing back. He darted his gaze up to find her coldly observing him before she looked back above his shoulder.

Spike swallowed the discomfort. He'd taken worse. And the best he could tell, she hadn't broken any bones—yet.

Two steps later he barely moved his foot in time before another heel jam attempted to trap him. All the while, Faye remained rather aloof. What was this becoming? A game of dodge-foot?

“Side spin, and come around to the hip sit. Remember that overextending is a risk for injury. Both of you concentrate on keeping the weight distribution centered.”

Spike lifted his arm and let Faye spin across him. As she came around, a wicked grin flashed. _Uh oh!_ In the next second, as she was coming down into the hip sit, Faye threw her weight backward into him. Gravity seized them both taking Spike down in a backward scramble onto his ass as his caffeine-fried reflexes couldn't save him. Faye, on the other hand, remained upright, planting her hands on her hips.

Fernando stepped up. “Oooo-kay. Cygne, why don't you and Faye work on the approach from the side spin. I'll work with Spike over here.” As Faye's heels clicked across the floor to join Cygne over on the other side of room, Spike took Fernando's offered hand and got back on his feet with a groan. “You ok?” Fernando whispered.

Spike glared at him. “Why did you mention the balance? Are you trying to give her ideas of how to torture me?”

Fernando's hands rested on Spike's shoulders. “I didn't mean to make it worse, but that warning is important, as you experienced. Don't worry, Cygne wants you both to get through this too. How's your foot?”

Spike winced. “About as good as my gut at the moment. Faye's slick move nailed me right where her fist did this morning. Impeccable aim.”

“Ehh, well. Hopefully she won't try that again.”

“Any hints on how to get through this without resorting to cowering like a dog?”

He glanced at Faye and Cygne across the way, they were not practicing any movement. Instead, Faye stood with her hands on her hips, heel tapping the floor. “Oh boy. Think we can convince her to go barefoot? That's actually allowed in the rules.”

“Well, that wouldn't hurt as bad.”

Fernando rubbed his chin. “You would be too.”

“This just keeps getting better. The only way we'll score high in this is if they have an S&M variant, cause that's the way she's gonna take this no matter what instructions you give. Just give her a whip and let's just turn this into a fight. It'll read better.”

“Now _that_ is against the rules.”

Spike eyed Faye's tiger like posture as she pointed back toward him not even looking. He ran a hand over his face. “Why aren't time machines real? I want nothing more than to go back in time and not be such a dip shit!”

“You're a fighter, right Spike?”

He nodded. “But right now I'm dampening the hell out my reflexes because if I reacted like I normally do this would only get worse. And the fact is, she's justified and I damn well know it.”

“Can you temper it enough to evade her attempts?”

Spike closed his eyes, flashes of Vicious cranked up on purple eye played in his memory. That night in the dark alley as a teenager he'd been forced to hold back with a lethal sword coming at him resorting to pure evasion. All to conceal Vicious's foolish betrayal to the syndicate. It wasn't an easy line to tread, in fact it took a hell of a lot more restraint. At the moment, burnt out as he was, it wouldn't be graceful. By tomorrow he could salvage enough. Slowly he nodded. “Yeah. It's a tough mindset to maintain. But I could do it, if she doesn't break anything today.”

Fernando snapped a nod. “Then, that's how we'll get this done.”

Across the room Faye's voice yelled, “I'm not letting that pervert touch me!”

Cygne crossed her arms and fixed her with a chastising glare. “Then you're going to throw the round, Faye. Trust me, Fernando has had more than a few words with him. I don't think he's going to try anything stupid now.”

“You clearly don't know him!”

“Faye, if this is going to work, you have to give him a chance.”

She closed her eyes and lifted her head to the ceiling. “I don't have to do anything!”

“If you want to compete; yes, you do. Now, we have another hour-fifteen in here. He apologized and is clearly trying. You can be mad at him outside of this. You have a decision to make, does the show go on? Or do you throw it all away? ”

Spike blew out a long breath and hung his head. _Sure just encourage her to be upset. _

The clack of shoes echoed across the floor. Faye held out her hands. “Fine. One wrong move and he'll need a surgeon to remove my boot from his ass.”

Cygne remarked, “There is an adequate first aid deck on here.”

“That's reassuring.” Spike carefully took Faye's hands. She glared him into silence.

*

Spike laid back in the recliner glancing across the room at Fernando and Cygne. The two chatted idly while putting the final details on costume pieces. Over by the door a stack of empty dishes from the dinner he'd treated them all to after the disastrous rehearsal, a thank you for the safe haven. Luckily for him, Cygne had managed to spot his phone in the suite where it had fallen in the ruckus. She'd brought it back with her. He half toyed with the idea of calling Jet. But every time he got up the nerve he put it back down, at a loss for even explaining his fuck up of the … well … what day was this?

Cygne picked up her phone and snickered at a message. “Well, looks like she covered for his absence. The story at dinner was his stomach was hurting him.”

Spike groaned at the explanation. “Well, that's halfway true. It does hurt, but not the way most are going to take that. Doesn't matter, I'm sick and tired of all that fancy bullshit anyway. A man should just be able to sit down and eat, for fucks sake.” He shut his eyes intent upon taking a nap in hopes the nagging caffeine headache would go away when his phone rang.

Picking it up he blinked into the illuminated image of Jet beaming on the other side. _“There you are, partner! I've been calling and no one picked up. You must have been out celebrating that amazing round. First place! Honestly didn't know you had __**that**__ in you.”_

Spike couldn't even find his voice. He buried his face in a hand.

“_I've seen you flirt for a bounty before. But never pictured that with Faye. Wow! It was almost like you weren't thinking of her.”_

Spike sunk down deeper, his fingers clawing into his hair.

Jet sat up and gasped. _“Pard … you didn't … tell me you didn't!”_

It was a tight nod.

“_Oh my God, Spike you idiot! Do you still have a death wish?”_

“No, not on purpose.”

“_You know how long Faye holds grudges! How could you do that to her!”_

Spike grumbled. “I know, the universe is gonna explode before she forgives me. I know, Jet!”

“_Uggh, I should have known this whole thing was a ticking time bomb with you involved. Have you found out anything new?”_

“Not really. Since last night I've just been trying to figure out how to deal with this. I'll be honest, almost wish I was back on that damn asteroid with the robotic dinosaurs. At least I knew how to deal with those things. This … well … this is … ”

“_Uncharted territory. And you without a compass. It's not like I can just come and pick you up, you know. Security is pretty tight on the ship.”_ Jet blinked as he leaned closer to the screen. _“Hang on, that's not the suite. Where are you?”_

“I'm crashing in our coach's room. Better than risking Faye smothering me with a pillow or something more creative. Frankly, I need the space. Still dealing with what it dredged up in me.”

“_Whatever you do, don't piss her off anymore. This ship is too quiet without you two.”_

Spike sat up a bit. “Is that a barely veiled insult?”

“_No. I mean it. Spike. I want you both back. Intact. Not in traction.”_

“How many times has **that** happened?”

“_You and getting into bloody trouble. Can't you behave yourself for once?”_

“I'm still on my feet. You know me, I don't go down that easily.”

“_There's another thing.” _Jet glanced over his shoulder. _“Ed's been missing you. The nightmares have come back. She didn't want me to know … but it's obvious. She's startled me a couple times. Nothing on this ship makes a squeal like that.”_

Spike sighed and shook his head. “Hasn't been long enough, poor kid.”

“_I know this is another damn secret you've kept from me, pard. And I wish you hadn't.”_

“Yeah, well, it's not exactly my secret to share.” Spike folded his arms across his chest.

“_Did she tell you what they were about?”_

He nodded. “Don't ask, I'm not telling you.”

“_Then I can't help her.”_

“You wouldn't be able to anyway. She around?” When Jet nodded. Spike furrowed his brow. “Put her on and walk away. I'm serious, Jet. No lurking in the shadows.”

“_But--”_

“It's a trust thing.”

“_Alright.”_

For a moment, everything went quiet. Then Ed jumped into the pilot seat and the thud of Jet descending the stairs echoed. _“Spike-person! Jet was worried he couldn't reach you. Why does Spike have bags under his eyes?”_

“Been a bit busy, I'm kinda tired.”

“_Swinging and dancing and stepping and weeee!”_

Spike chuckled. “Kinda like that.”

“_Ed misses Spike. Ed's keeping the couch warm. When are you coming back home?”_

“It's gonna be a bit, kiddo. There's a lot of people on a really big ship, turning out to be a real trick to find the bad guys, and … uhhh … things aren't going smoothly at the moment.”

“_Things always go sideways with Spike-person.” _Ed glanced back over her shoulder. Her usually jovialness faded. _“Ed isn't sleeping well.”_

Spike met her trembling gaze through the screen. The fear dwelt there like a shadowy monster. “Makes two of us, again. Remember what I told you?”

“_Ed tried. But it's not working. The big one nearly got Ed last night! Big jaws, snarling and gnashing! No where to run, no where to hide. Couldn't hack it, wouldn't listen. Kept coming and coming, and coming!” _She bowed her head, blushing. _“Ed woke up on the floor.”_

“Well, if hacking the pesky brutes isn't working … hrm … You know what, why don't you see if Shuĭ and Qi will keep watch over you. I'm sure those two can handle anything. Not sure about the rest of those clockwork hooligans, though.”

Ed cocked her head. _“But they're not in Ed's dreams.”_

“Keep 'em close by. Bet you can call on them when you need backup.” Spike forced a smile, dearly wishing he had back-up now.

Her voice softened. _“Ed wants Spike to teach her more ninja ways to face the shadows.”_

“How many times do I have to tell you they're not ninja … oh never mind. I promise I'll be back soon. Do me a favor, check into Jim Lansing for me.”

“_Jim Lansing? Ok! Ed on a mission for double-O Spike!”_

Spike's eyebrow raised. “What?”

“_Double-O Spike, you know like a spy.” _

Spike laughed. “You've been binging old movies again.”

Striking a power pose, she announced,  _“Spike's a secret agent and Faye-Faye is his moll.”_

He cringed and waved his hands at the screen. “Nope. Definitely do not say that around Faye at all!”

“_Why?”_

“Cause that's not exactly a complement, nor is it true. Look, kiddo, I've got to get some shut-eye. It's been a rough day.”

“_Bye bye!” _Ed waved and clicked the phone off. Spike settled into recliner that served as a bed for the night. He'd been in worse places before. At least no one was plotting his demise in this room.

“Spike?” Cygne called from across the room. He glanced at her. “You do know why Faye is upset with you, right?”

He sighed. “Let me guess, she said I was too dense to comprehend what I did wrong.”

Fernando cleared his throat and leaned forward, whispering into Cygne's ear. Her eyes widened incrementally until they were fully open.

She gasped when Fernando leaned back. “Oh shit, you seriously can't tell her the truth.”

“Yup.” Spike half lidded his eyes. “So, the role of stupid schmuck it is.” He tugged the blanket up and shut his eyes. “Sometimes there's just nothing you can do but wait for a chance to make up for being a complete lunkhead. I just hope she lets me live long enough for that opportunity.”

*

Satin and chiffon. Sequins and lace. The gleam of tiaras and jeweled hair combs. The heady mix of perfume and cologne swirling around, and around, and around. Trust, precision, dedication.

Betrayal!

No, not here! Not now! She knew why it sprang on her, like a cat toying with its prey. Running for the wall, she battered against it. In a flash, the floor tumbled away leaving her in a shattering spiral of the fractured dream.

Faye jolted upright, gripping the lace of her sleeping camisole as she looked around the dimly lit room. The fancy fixtures glimmered even in the low light. Large windows showed the stars sliding by at a leisurely pace. On the nightstand her dog-eared copy of _Desire in the Afterburner _lay where she had tossed it. This bed wasn't her bunk on the _Bebop_, it was too large, too soft, too nice. The disorientation faded away in a strange place, a tragically familiar state from a time before … before … she'd met them and the place that drew her back repeatedly. A place she felt she belonged.

Faye took a few deep breaths. She stiffened.

The scent of sandalwood and cedar. The bottle sat on the nightstand. _Autumn Rain_. Her eyes closed. She ran her hands across the silk sheets on the opposite side of the bed. Cold, undisturbed. As she laid down, staring at the emptiness, the source of the aroma drew closer. The lack of a warm pulse pummeled her in a way she wasn't ready for. The snare tightened.

Curling into a ball beneath the covers she pounded a fist on the mattress. “Damn it, heart! Stop this.” Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Tears she banished. “I want to kill him!”

In each beat of her deceitful heart it fluttered. A painful taunt between two desires, ultimate destruction and possession. They warred in the fighting pit of her stomach, neither one backing down.

“He's an inconsiderate prick and I hate him.” Pulling the blankets closer, it only served to draw the scent into a punishing pool. The longing clawed at her again. The repeated teasing of the past years in his company stirred anew. How he had repeatedly played the flirt only to turn around and push all her buttons in the most infuriating way.

And yet beneath that asshole exterior she had glimpsed those rare moments when he revealed a sentimental side. Moments where he dropped the facade and the distance that kept a barrier between him and every living being. Moments when he revealed that he had a heart buried deep inside that lunkhead of his. Despite everything, when they were on task he was always there, steadfast when it mattered. What she and Jet had done searching so long in the void of any evidence striving to find him alive, to bring him … home.

Her hand gripped the covers, the tears spilled from her eyes. That emotionally stunted cold bastard should have known hearts weren't toys to play with! The storm ravaged her.

“Men are just … useless!” She shut her eyes and grappled for sleep's embrace.


	14. Session 14

_ **Session 14** _

Sitting at the dance floor side table, Spike couldn't help his fingers playing idly with the hem of the loose pants that seemed a bit short, considering they stopped halfway down his calf. Apparently the all white outfit with just a touch of color was inspired by some Earthling style called Brazilian? Over a sleeveless t-shirt he had a loose white button shirt left open with the sleeves rolled up. A brightly colored scarf trapped the untucked shirt tails to his body. Concealed beneath the over shirt suspenders had been a hasty requirement as the belt Fernando had initially planned on lined up close to the bruise on his stomach. Thankfully the plan hadn't been to go bare-chested like some of the other men were. On top of his bare foot a rather dark purple mark revealed where Faye had ground her heel in. Maxine had suggested turning it into a tattoo. That had gone nowhere under his harsh glare. Memories had already been a source of great trouble, he didn't need more conflicts to distract him. So he settled for a visible bruise. Accidents could happen. Around his ankle and neck a matching set of small seashells woven by cords were an odd finishing touch that wriggled whenever he moved. Supposedly another detail in line with the old fashion.

He tried not to think of his partner, but the repetitious sound was hard to ignore.

Across the table Faye stabbed a straw into a pina colada rather savagely. Cygne had selected a short floral printed skirt and a striped halter top for her. Were Spike not in as deep of a hole as he was, he'd admit that the cut flattered her. The same shell jewelry with more elaborate knot work hung from her neck and coordinating ankle, that pair seemed rather like shackles linking them. Spike heaved a relieved sigh as he noted she hadn't ignored their coach's request. She also was barefoot. At least it wouldn't be a high heel to the instep if he couldn't evade. Of course that did nothing for where her knee would be for most of the dance. He hoped she wouldn't be that cruel. A shot there would be impossible to conceal.

Her temper simmered in every stab of the slushy drink. Her eyes didn't glance his way even for a second.

The couple on the dance floor was one they knew from an earlier dinner. Phillip and Eliza Dunningham flowed with the rhythm in an energetic display, clearly having the time of their lives. And not hitting one another in a vengeful manner.

Spike cleared his throat, “Faye, I truly didn't mean to hurt you.”

The stabbing increased.

“Ok. I get it, you're still angry and not talking to me. Which means we're gonna do this the hard way.” He took a deep breath. There were a few more couples before their turn. Time to start preparing himself as it was clear there was only one way through this, and it wasn't going to be pretty. Evasive mindset seemed to be in order. Just enough instincts to dodge while suppressing the urge to strike back. Like a dam holding back a vast drowning lake.

The whole room basically tuned out, Spike leaned on his elbows until the announcers' voices broke through. “Alright Veronica, here comes the moment a lot have been waiting for. Next up we have the surprise couple of this year's contest, Spike and Faye Sterling.”

“After their captivating performance of the tango where they overshadowed last year's winners by taking first place, there has been a lot of talk. The secret may now be revealed for their remarkable entrance into this. They are being coached by none other than Fernando and Cygne Alegre, a retired dance champion couple.”

“Well, that would explain some of what we've seen. Now let's see how the Sterlings handle dancing to _Kaoma Lambada_. Let's get saxy.”

“You did not just tell that lame joke, Derrick. I thought we agreed that wasn't funny.”

_Kaoma Lambada? More like Sadistic Lambada._ Into the spotlight Spike pushed up from the table, bare feet on the polished wooden floor, cool to the touch. Every muscle had been keyed in. Primed for whatever Faye threw at him, hopefully not a table. If things went even halfway decent they would only be knocked slightly out of the rhythm, and not utterly disqualified.

Faye took her place across the dance floor, cocking a hip as she planted her hand there. Fiery attitude on full display. Her eyes locked on him. Not in any semblance of love. That glare emulated vengeance.

No flowers. No channeling lost loves—never again! He anchored himself in the moment. Or rather, in the next three-and-a-half minutes. He knew she would never forgive him if this round got them kicked out by disqualification. He also knew that just cause this was a competition round wouldn't save him from her ire. A woman scorned. He would be dancing with a force of nature.

The drumbeat started in a lively rhythm joined a moment later by an accordion. Spike and Faye swayed and shuffled their feet in the characteristic pattern of the lambada. Every time Faye's hips snapped the short skirt fabric flicked up. That motion should have been a playful flirt. In her current state it read more like the pendulum of a clock ticking down to an explosion.

Spike closed the distance, a compromise Fernando had worked in during the less than harmonious rehearsal, rather than insisting on Faye. She remained in one place, facing Spike as he circled her, spiraling inward until the saxophone joined in the driving rhythm. Liquid gold, if only Spike could savor it. But he could only use it to keep time, to keep in step. He reached out for her hand.

She gave it, but a fist smacked into his waiting palm. Spike absorbed the hit. _Alright, let's hope the judges didn't pick up on that._

Stepping close to in time with the music, Spike hitched a step or four as Faye took a couple half hidden jabs at the top of his foot. She missed the bruised one, but got lucky on the side of his other ankle. Spike concealed his grimace and shifted through it, pulling her into the essential chest-to-chest posture to make the micro-assaults harder. She allowed it, but it darkened the gleam in her eyes. Her blunted nails pressed into his flesh, not quite cutting it. _Thank you, Maxine._

He spun her off into the hip sit. The moment she shifted her weight, he was ready with a counter balance, shielding his bruised belly with his other elbow. Her efforts thwarted, Faye glared through the tops of her eyes at him.

Guiding her out of the move, he lifted his arm and let her spin, arching back from the attempt to slap him. He grabbed the rogue hand a spin too early, halting her. They locked eyes. _Sorry, Faye, but you'd be angrier if I let this go south. Work with me here, at least a little bit._

She narrowed her eyes.

Spike took a deep breath. _Like it or not, you're going down._

Well, it was the next move. He set her on his knee and dipped her backward at the waist, far enough her extended hand nearly brushed the floor. Once more, hardened eyes glared at him. He brought her back upright and grabbed her hands before she could try anything. Around the floor they spun in the energetic dance step. Beneath the pattern, hopefully not too obvious, a potentially damaging game of footsy played out.

_Damn it, Faye! You're the one who wanted to do this! _

He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep ahead of her lightly veiled assaults and yet maintain time with the music.

Faye broke from the hold and spun on her own away from him. She came out of it, turned sideways to him, hand on her hip. A dare in her eyes. She rolled her fingers in wait.

Fernando had a great idea for this part. Spike darted forward, back-bending as Faye extended an arm like a limbo pole. Of course she attempted to bring it down on him. Anticipating that, Spike rolled to the outside and swept up around and behind her. He hoped that looking intentional to the judges.

Facing out, Faye reached back and grabbed onto Spike's collar. Evasion proved harder as they swayed together into the final stretch. But she wasn't done. During the final steps she brought her bare heel down one Spike's toes. His eyes widened, but he swallowed the yelp, gripping her wrist tighter.

Silence descended as Faye sauntered away from him. In separate spotlights they took their bows. Spike eyed her from a distance. _That could have gone worse. _

*

Jet stared at the screen and blinked. Nothing came to him as he struggled with what he'd just seen. Compared to the tango this was an utter disaster. The only blessing was that both physically walked off the dance floor. Neither one had to be carried. That alone seemed like a miracle.

Derrick's voice blurted over the broadcast,  _“What the hell was that?”_

“_I'm not sure. Was that actually the same couple?”_

“_Hrm, there was a rumor that Mr. Sterling didn't attend dinner last night. Something about not feeling well. Perhaps that's the reason for … uhh … whatever we just saw. There is no way that's scoring high.”_

“_Sorry to break it to you, Derrick, but that read more like a brawl than a dance of love.”_

Jet leaned closer and searched the crowd for his crew. He spotted them seated back at a table beside the ring. Neither of them faced the other. 

“Well, at least they still both have pulses … for now.”

*

Back in the suite Faye padded across the room in a plush bathrobe, combing out her freshly washed hair. Cygne sat on the edge of the bed folding up Faye's discarded costume, a somber expression on her face as her fingers traced the seams. “So much work for but a few moments in the light. But that is the purpose of such things.”

Dropping onto the end of the bed, Faye stole a glance at the fabric between her fingers, such a tender caress of her creation. “It wasn't a total wash. The score was high enough to avoid elimination.”

Cygne set the costume aside. “Only just. That basically removes any buffer you had for mistakes for the rest of the rounds. This hunt will be a lot easier if you can stay in the contest. Those who have been eliminated are already placed in a separated circle. You know how classes work.”

Idly stroking the comb though, Faye muttered. “It's not like we've gotten anywhere with that anyway.” The comb paused, her knuckles turning white. Would it be so bad to throw the contest? Social snubbing aside, it would give her more time to … she stared at her phone where the files were stored. She'd barely looked at them since the Espositos aired their taunt.

“Faye, I'm serious.” Apparently Cygne had continued to talk. “From here the scores are more essential. You have to decide what you want.”

Her hands fell into her lap, the comb lay in limp fingers. This room felt so empty. The scent haunted her, even now. The cologne she had picked out for him lingered, stirred up as they sat on the bed. And yet when he stood close all she remembered was the way he'd pawed her. The walk of his fingers on her skin promising something that the jerk denied her in the next moment. She rubbed her forehead. “I don't … I don't know what I want.”

Shuffling closer, Cygne took her hand. “Heavens to the stars, do I recognize what I see. Let me guess, Spike didn't seed those feelings in you during that dance. They were there before, and he just stirred them up.”

Faye looked away, biting her lip.

Cygne touched the diamond ring on her finger. “Playing house didn't work out the way you planned.”

Throwing the comb, Faye shouted, “He's the guilty one! He knew I loved him!” She cupped her hands over her mouth.

Cygne took one glance over at the romance novel on the nightstand. Her expression faded to pity. “You told him. He told you his heart belonged to another. And you kept chasing him because eventually the chased heart always gives in. I mean, that's the way it always works in those books. Do I have it right?”

Faye's gaze fell to the floor. Her voice a shuddering whisper, “They aren't left … abandoned. Time. All it takes is time and enough persistence … they always fall in love in the end.”

“Oh darling,” Cygne placed a finger beneath Faye's chin lifted her face, “only that's not the way hearts work in real life.”

Faye's heart thundered. “But—”

“You aren't going to want to hear this, especially as angry as you are right now.” She held up a staying hand. “I'm not saying what Spike pulled was justified. In truth, it was a terrible mistake. But … all this time you have waited for him to return your feelings, have you ever considered his? That's the mark these fantasies so often fail to consider. How often they subject a character to the unrelenting tactics of a lovesick heart until the bond is forced. Is there a reason the love was not returned initially?”

Faye bunched the robe up in her hands. “Julia!”

Cygne smiled softly, a gesture that fanned her ire. “And there we have it.”

“That bitch is dead. There is no future there. Why can't he just move on and get a life?”

“Have you asked him that?”

The ring sparkled in the light. Faye stared at it. Had she asked him? In the many times she had dropped hints and clues, had she actually come on out and asked?

“No … ”

Cygne stood up and crossed the room. “Faye, don't you think the others will notice if your apparent _husband_ is not with you? Especially after today's performance? I suggest you at least let him back in the room and have a serious talk. Even if you are not actually married, you are still partners, teammates. One way or another you have to work together again.”

Faye stared down at her feet, curling her toes. Unless she left again. But … the _Bebop _was her home.

“The choice is yours. You know where he is.” Cygne closed the door behind her.

*

Spike lay back in the recliner, studying the bruises on his ankle and toes. “The things I sacrificed for a semblance of rhythm. If I hadn't been trying to keep the steps close to on time I could have avoided most of that. Oh well. Nothing broken. That'll heal.”

“You received a score, all be it a bad one. It wasn't a disqualification.” Fernando shrugged. “Under the circumstances I think we can call that round salvaged. Now the next one will be hard since there is no practice.”

“Why's that?”

“Zero-gravity ballet.”

Spike rested his chin in his hand. “Ballet? I'm guessing this is supposed to be some sort of graceful thing. Where does the zero-g part come in?”

Fernando waved a hand through the air. “Basically they shut the drive off and participants have to manage a routine using teamwork to push off bars and rings from the ceiling. Something resembling an aerial dance.”

Throwing his head back, Spike laughed. “Let me guess, this usually doesn't go so well.”

“No. Most aren't used to trying to move in that environment.”

“Unlike a couple of bounty hunters who spend more than half their year in space doing the occasional impromptu space walk.”

Fernando lifted an eyebrow.

“As long as we get Faye's temper out of orbit, this shouldn't be a problem. We don't need practice. We've fought, not each other, out in zero-gravity. No, wait a second. We actually did fight each other. That's kind of part of how we first met when little miss Romani crashed Jet's day at the casino.”

The door opened, Spike leaned his head back and glanced at Cygne upside down. She looked at Spike. “Someone is here to talk to you.” She stepped aside.

_Talk **to** … not with, greeeaaat._

Faye stood behind her, but she wouldn't look in the room. “I … uhh … people are going to start talking. So,” she turned halfway away, “you need to come back to my room.” She snapped back forward, meeting his upside down gaze for the first time, one finger held up. “I'm warning you, if you try anything you'll be wishing you were dead.”

Before Spike could even reply, Faye darted back down the hall.

He sat up and squinted. “That at least sounded a bit more normal. I wouldn't have believed it without the threat.”

Cygne eyed him. “Be careful what you say, Spike. This is more delicate than I think either of you realize.”

He sighed, hanging his head. “Unfortunately, I've never been known for a delicate touch.”


	15. Session 15

_ **Session 15** _

Faye sat up in bed. The clock showed the time, just past midnight. She should be sleeping, but something had disturbed her. The decks were silent and still outside her door, that wasn't it. The other side of the bed lay empty. So he hadn't been that foolish.

Stepping out of bed, she crept across the floor toward the couch. Spike lay sprawled on his side on the couch, head rammed into a pillow, a blanket sloppily draped over him. Now that looked familiar.

Good. He had stayed where she'd banished him to. The sorry ass hadn't said much when he'd entered, just dropped his bag in the corner and gotten ready to sleep. He'd even taken the hint of the blanket on the couch.

Suited him fine enough, she supposed. It was where he always slept on the _Bebop _anyway. All the times his ass got handed to him and he ended up wrapped in bandages like some resident mummy. Sometimes she swore he spent more time healing than chasing bounties! Reckless jerk, never thinking about others having to put him together again. Running headlong into an ambush only to end up falling out a bloody stained glass window, shot in the arm by a freak kid, beat all to hell by some strange rogue ISSP experiment, run over repeatedly by that cowboy wannabe, thrashed by an apparently deceased Titan soldier driven crazy by some nano-tech machines. Not that he came back to the ship right away, but taking on a syndicate single handed and nearly dying from the aftermath, most of which he'd spent in a prison on Pluto, which they'd had to rescue his ass from. Taking down a crazed doctor bent on purifying humanity and leaving that asteroid as a limping wreck, posing undercover as a bloody eye dealer to flush out an inside ISSP smuggler and taking a pounding from that drugged up crooked cop, … the wheels turned in Faye's head as she mentally ticked it all off. The events known to her. All the times that Spike had charged ahead into the fray. The times that he had disregarded the risk to his life and threw himself into things. She shivered as memories of the robot dinosaurs crept out of the shadows. Her finger tracing the scar on her shoulder left behind. She'd gotten away lucky. Spike and Jet had both taken a serious beating.

On the couch, Spike stirred onto his back, the blanket shifted down. A dark bruise in the center of his gut in the shape of her knuckles. Worse, on the corresponding mark of her ring finger, a darker blotch oddly shaped like her ring. She really **had** hit him that hard. That stumble into the wall hadn't been an act.

Staring down at him, lying injured on the couch like on the ship, granted it wasn't as serious as many times before … but … realization dawned on her. Spike, his dedication, even though his plans tended to go haywire, he pursued them once he committed. It didn't matter how thrashed he was, still healing from critical wounds he faced Vincent hand-to-hand a second time to make certain the psycho was too occupied to pull off anything else while she and Jet helped spread the cure to the nano-tech plague. Barely recovered from the damage done to him in Pluto's harsh prison, he didn't back away from Ambrose's ambush no matter how the man tried to break him again. Trapped in that demented robotic dinosaur theme park Spike had already been struggling when they'd separated, and yet Ed had insisted Spike concealed her first before throwing himself at the creature that threatened their lives. That damn thing had broken Spike by the time it was over. She shivered as she remembered the shame in his eyes. But he mustered enough strength to walk out of there on his own … he'd committed to reaching the ship. To coming back … home.

How many times had Faye run off when things got tough? She shivered just thinking about it. There it was … what she truly admired about him. Spike, as deep as the trouble got, didn't run away from it at the first opportunity. His resilience to do what it took, no matter what it took drew her closer to him.

She stared at the ring on his finger, the ring she had placed there. That dance … the passion … the full throes … it struck like a blow. His mistake—he had committed.

Spike muttered in his sleep, the stirring increased, his hands pumping into fists. The words were not clear enough to make out. But the motions she had seen, Spike was fighting.

That was the noise that had woken her. She leaned closed, hesitant to wake him. It was obvious he was in distress.

His eyes cracked open. He jerked upright, heaving each breath.

Faye leaned backward, caught as he stared straight at her a wild look in his glassy eyes. “Spike, I uhh didn't mean to … well … are you alright?”

Rather shakily, Spike sat up and grabbed for a cigarette and his lighter. He shut his eyes as he sucked it in, leaning forward with his elbow on his knees.

Faye sat on the arm of the couch, watching him closely. “Spike, did you have a bad dream or something?”

He squeezed his eyes a bit tighter. “Give me **one **cigarette to get it together, Faye.”

She drew her knees up and hugged them to her, waiting in the tense silence as Spike gradually mastered his breathing. Stubbing the butt out in the ashtray he let out a slow breath. His gaze once more controlled. She uttered, “Some nightmare, huh.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Outwardly, he seemed calm, but there was a residual tension. “Do you … do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” His hand strayed down and rubbed his left side. “Bad enough seeing it again.” His words were clipped. “Besides, why would you give a shit? I thought you were still pissed at me.”

“I am,” she glanced away, “but … ”

He shook his head. “Just drop it, Faye. Right now chances are I'd probably say something stupid and you'd justly kick my ass for it.”

Faye rested her chin on her knees. “Maybe … then again, maybe not. Spike, what happened out there during the tango?”

“This … ” his eyes grew distant, “now … ?”

“Yes, I really need to know. I mean, were those feelings real?”

He lowered his head. “Oh, they were very real.” His eyes trembled, a tear in the corner of his real eye. “But they weren't for you … and I never should have gone there. Not for what it did to you and … to me.” Turning away from her, he grabbed for another cigarette, lighting it with shaking hands. “Before you blow up at me again, I opened a door I should have left shut. I should have known better, but it was the only way I thought I could feel that emotion again.”

A flicker of anger burned again. “You thought of **her**, didn't you.”

His response was turning further from her, hiding his face as he brought a knee up to rest his arm there, the cigarette forgotten. “I thought … if I could remember what it was like to dance with her … but … ” his voice cracked, “I let it go too far. I took that chance to steal a moment I would never have again. I danced with her. I shouldn't have done that to you. But I hadn't planned on it getting away from me.”

The pain in his voice lanced her anger. He'd been too rattled to be bullshitting. Cygne had known about Julia, too … was this really the truth? “Why do you hang onto that? Spike, she's truly gone. There is no future there.”

He sunk further into the shelter of his arm. “I held her in those final moments. I felt her blood draining out between my useless fingers. Her heart stopped beating against my chest. You think I don't know?”

She whispered, “Then what's the point?”

His words were hard to discern but she thought he said, “I don't know, but it doesn't matter. Some wounds never heal.”

For a long while they sat in silence. Faye lit her own cigarette, finding her smoldering anger banked. Her thoughts threatened to drift back into old corridors of memories and open portals she wasn't ready to explore. Not now. Why had she ever thought this con was a good idea?

At length Spike took the silver band off and turned it in his fingers, studying it, almost weighing it.

The ring, the twisting pattern of light captivated her. An avenue she had never considered. “Did you ever marry … er … propose to Julia?”

Spike's reply was distant, almost numb. “Never got the chance. I'd planned on it, but that opportunity never came.”

“Why?”

“Because,” lifting a shoulder, Spike heaved a sigh, “enforcers weren't allowed to marry without permission from their capos.”

“Wait, Mao had that much power over your life?”

He nodded.

What kind of a job had the authority to tell someone what they could do with their private life? “That's bullshit!”

“No, it wasn't. Families were considered a distraction from duty. A man could only be committed to one purpose—protecting the Dragon. At the time I asked for permission things were … anything but stable. Rivalries that amounted a turf war, Vicious flying off the handle and becoming a power hungry dick. Mao needed me to rein my partner's ass in and not be distracted by planning the event of my lifetime.”

A chill ran down her spine, to think of him taking no for an answer. And no on a question so deep and serious. “So … you had to put your life on hold for duty.”

“Every day of my life in service of the syndicate, that was a lot of bloody years. The only chance at a future we had was to leave, but it took me too long to see that truth. The price was several more years regretting how my blind obedience cost me the chance to build a real life.”

Faye stared at the burning end of her cigarette, the tiny red ember slowly eating away, marching to its own demise. “And here I thought you always spat in the face of order.”

He shrugged. “The result of being burned by the system I bled to serve, who'd only made me what I am to be its sacrifice. They saved my life … and stole it all before I even knew what I could have had. Julia was the key to that realization … the true cost of my sacrifice.”

“You really loved her. I get that. But why carry a torch for her now?”

“It's what happens when the heart gets burned that deep, Faye. She was the only light I had in a time when things spiraled out of control. I  _ died _ to give us a chance to get out of the crossfire. After it seemed even she betrayed me I had no taste for doing anything anyone elses way. I'm surprised Jet let me on board the  _ Bebop _ considering how much I didn't give a shit anymore. I was freed from the order that had dictated my life … but I had nothing to live for. Jet tolerated me, and the bounties gave me a purpose. It kept me functioning and worked to channel how cheated I'd felt.”

Cheated, Faye gripped her knees tighter. Did she know what it was to be cheated! Waking to the horrid scheme of that doctor and his nephew. Being conned into taking on his debts and forced to pay off her own for a procedure she never asked for. From then on it seemed that society had fallen into a deeper pit of depravity. Men always craved something from her. No one proved worthy of her trust as the cons stacked up. The wound ran too deep, opened again and again.

She closed her eyes. It was worse with her memories returned, tarnished by time. Foundations crumbled, her true life buried beneath gravestones. Broken promises without a chance to rectify them. Dreams tattered in the winds of time. The Earth she knew had been pummeled beyond recognition. Cheated was a tame word. She slammed the vault door on the memories before they could scar her. God, why had she asked Spike to explain? She wanted to run. Run and hide … but where? On this ship there was no where. No  _ Redtail _ to carry her away. Trapped.

Opening her eyes, Faye scrubbed unshed tears away. “Damn it, I didn't ask for any of this.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Spike push the ring back onto his finger. “Life doesn't really give a shit what we want. It usually has other plans.”

Faye covered the ring on her finger. “I should have asked you.”

He nodded, his eyes locked on his plain silver band. 

“Spike,” she hugged her knees to her chest, “I am still upset with you, feelings like this don't just go away … but … thank you for not throwing the round.”

He glanced up at Faye and reached out his hand. “I haven't forgotten this is your mark. What kind of a partner would I be if I let an argument ruin the hunt?”

Commitment. She bowed her head and took his hand in hers.  _ Don't make me regret this. _   


*

Jet ambled up the stairs to the bridge. The silence cut through him, but not for the reason he'd told Spike earlier. Each step he glanced around, waiting, wondering. At least Spike and Faye generally kept their pranks to themselves.

From the top of the staircase the compy with the white dots cocked its head at him. Clamped between its jaws was a large screw.

“Hey!” Jet thrust a finger toward the little beast. “Where did you get that, you little shit?”

He lunged for it, but the nimble robot hopped up onto the railing and chirruped around the screw. Where the hell was Spike to help wrangle these damn things?

“What the heck is your name? Shuĭ, no that one fetches beer.” Jet rubbed his chin. “Were you Mù? No ... Huŏ?” When the creature ignored him, using its foot to chin scratch in a mockery, Jet growled. “Wait a minute, Tŭ? Oh that's right, the little fuckin' clepto is Jīn! Get back here and tell me where you got that from!”

Jīn darted circles around the bridge, perching on every available surface long enough to taunt Jet with a hissing peep. Jet drove the metallic beast up onto the map/shogi board where metal feet failed to find traction among the pieces. Jīn skidded across the table and tumbled onto the floor with a clang. The screw spun on the floor. Picking up the mystery part of the ship, Jet snapped at the compy, “One more time taking a piece of the _Bebop_ and I don't care what Ed says, you will be disassembled! Keep your claws off my ship.” He punted the little brute down the metal staircase knowing they were tough from experience.

“Now, for what I came up here to do.” Settling down in the pilot seat he dialed up Spike. It took a short bit, but the screen flickered and Spike appeared in a half buttoned shirt and the ends of an undone bow tie over his neck, clearly in the process of getting ready for something. Jet banished his frustration and greeted him, “Hey, was hoping to catch you. Looks like you're back in the suite?”

Spike kept his voice down, glancing to the side, _“Yeah, there's a momentary truce to make sure we don't get shoved into the rejected circle. You know, all that classist shit. Apparently there's some kind of big social thing since there isn't a practice round or a performance today. I'm just going with the flow here.”_

“No practice? But isn't the next round tomorrow?”

“_It is.”_

“With no rehearsal?”

“_Ehh, we'll be ok. This next round is just another day in the office for us.”_

Jet smirked. “Like that last round?”

Spike laughed nervously. _“Nothing like __**that, **__I hope. Anyway. I take it Ed looked up Lansing?”_

“Sure did. The guy is legit.”

“_Really? You're sure.”_

Jet read from the file. “Jim Lansing, son of tech mogul Tanner Lansing. Last year Tanner handed over the data storage R&D labs to Jim. This explains why he hasn't been seen as the face of any company, yet. The handover was quiet, seems Tanner didn't have a lot of confidence in his kid.”

Faye leaned into the screen, wearing a simple red silk dress.  _“So basically a trust fund company situation. The kid took the helm and the dad gritted his teeth hoping he didn't tank it.”_

“Pretty much. Unless we have a case of stolen identity, I don't think Jim is one of your guys.”

Spike shrugged. _“It's still possible. They could have used his facial features to pose as him. He's not high profile so few would catch on if he isn't behaving like himself.”_

“_Still, that seems like a big risk. Has he turned up anywhere else? Like a doppelganger?”_

“Nope. The reservation happened months ago. And nothing has shown up to hint there is a real Jim Lansing elsewhere.”

Faye huffed a breath._ “I doubt he's the guy. Didn't seem that bright.” _She moved off the screen.

Now only Spike gazed back at him, half lidded eyes lost in thought. _“Something is up with him. But I admit, it'd be a long shot if he was Ivanhoe. So much for hoping to get lucky.”_

“At least there is a history on the guy. He's a real person.”

Spike glanced over the monitor, “_Hey Faye, that stole looks like you're wearing Ein.”_ A moment later a tannish fur thing flopped on his face. He pulled it down and showed it to the screen.

Ein's claws clicked on the deck. At the sound of his name he popped up to look at the screen and cocked his head. Jet stroked him between the ears. “Don't worry, Faye's not going to wear you, boy.”

Chuckling, Spike held the stole up and called across the room. _“You would have been mad at me if I hadn't said anything.”_

“_I'm mad at you anyway!”_ Her voice came from a distance, the sound of a door opening.

Jet shook his head. “Don't push it, kid.”

Spike poked at the furry thing. He was about to reply, when a scream rent the air, muffled by distance. Distinctly a male's voice. Spike stiffened. _“Gotta go!” _

The screen went blank. Jet stared, his hand paused in mid pet. Ein pawed at his hand. “That didn't sound good.”

*

Spike joined Faye at their open suite door, the tray with the dishes from their breakfast in her hands. She hastily deposited them outside the door. Despite her not having shoes on, she darted out into the hall ahead of him. Spike followed toward the open suite door two down from theirs. The door where the bloody murder scream had come from.

Inside the room, Jim Lansing stood in the middle flanked by Maria. Both pale, jaws dropped in shock. The room was a mess, items tossed everywhere. But in the center of the bed, where Jim obsessed, a metal case lined with foam lay wide open. He dove onto the bed, digging through everything.

“Where is it? Dad's gonna kill me if I lost it! Maria—help me look for it!”

Faye stepped into the room beside Maria, “What happened?”

Too frantic to answer, Jim picked up the case, searched it, and tossed it on the floor. It landed at Spike's feet. He crouched down and examined the tiny slot cut into the foam.

“We've been robbed!” Maria gasped. “I told him not to pack the experimental micro-drive. But he insisted this was a chance to find new investors and score some points with his father.”

Spike picked up the case and fingered the slot. “It was small enough to fit in here?” The space was hardly larger than a thumbnail, and slightly thicker.

Jim pulled the blanket off the bed and shook it. Nothing fell out. “Shit! If someone stole it I'm a dead man! Not just my career is over—Dad said something like this was going to happen.”

“Jim, I told you to stop showing it off! But you didn't want to listen to me.”

Faye shook her head. “They left quite a mess. It might still be here, somewhere.”

Spike turned the case and showed her the scratches gouged into the lock. “I would say they came for specifically for this. That wasn't a delicate pick job.” He almost analyzed what could have done the damage before remembering his no-nothing cover wouldn't have a clue. “Did you see anyone?”

“No. The door was closed. Everything seemed normal til we turned on the lights.”

Faye took Maria's hand. “Let me get my shoes on. We need to report this to security.”

Spike stared at the lock. Brute force. Yup. Their marks were still on the ship. And it clearly wasn't the Lansings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Past events listed in Faye's reverie to show I'm not making shit up … the latter part I guess I did but that's a collection of stories:
> 
> Canon material
> 
> Ballad of the Fallen Angels stained glass cathedral window, Sympathy for the Devil freaky kid with a good shot, Pierrot Le Fou ISSP rogue experiment, Cowboy Funk wannabe cowboy, Knockin' on Heaven's Door (movie) deceased Titan soldier Vincent and the nano-tech, Real Folk Blues takin' on the syndicate and Vicious.
> 
> My stories referenced
> 
> Dead Star Shine aftermath of the syndicate and sentenced to life imprisoned on Pluto segueing into Ambrose the crazy purification doctor, Bloody Eyed Tango undercover dealer to flush out a crooked cop, Acid Rock Riot an insane romp through a robotic version of Jurassic Park on an abandoned asteroid.


	16. Session 16

_ **Session 16** _

Faye studied the large rings and bars now suspended from the ceiling. The ballroom now looked something like a circus trapeze from Earth. Standing next to Spike among the gathering couples, she murmured, “So this is what Cygne was talking about. That's crazy high.”

“Only when gravity is involved.” Spike shrugged. “They turn that off and it'll just be a spacewalk without the suits.”

“With targets. She mentioned those rings.” Faye pointed at the large hoops spread out at either end of the room. There was nothing in a simple direct line to them. “At some point in the routine if we can both slip through it's supposed to score well.”

“Wanna bet how many of them end up stranded and flailing? It'll look a lot like those stoned losers in the drifter colony where Chess Master Hex was hiding.”

She cringed. “That place … gah! Just hearing about it I swear I can taste the foul herbs in the air, even though I had an air filter for that. But still, I get the reference. I doubt many will realize how important momentum is.”

“They will once they stop moving.” Spike chuckled. “I'm getting to like this idea. One of those crazy elitist activities that really does nothing but embarrass others with less experience. Sounds about right.”

“You do know what ballet is, right?” Faye glanced up at him.

“Yeah, bunch of girls in frilly things and guys in tights.” He narrowed his eyes. “No Faye, I draw the line at tights.”

“I meant, do you think we can pull off an aerial ballet.”

“Not a chance. But we should be able to turn this into a fun obstacle course. Fernando mentioned complicated planning as being the biggest eliminating factor. Let the other teams try to choreograph something and end up stuck in the middle.”

Faye tugged her shawl tighter eyeing the rings. “We shoot for the targets, move between all of the points until the music stops.”

Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “That should do the trick.”

After accompanying the Lansings to the security office they'd finished getting ready before heading down to the ballroom. The thirty couples still in the competition continued to arrive slowly. More than a few looking confused up at the changes to the ceiling.

Carlos and Roberta strode in displaying their typical cock-of-the-walk style. Roberta tapped her partner on the shoulder and pointed towards Faye and Spike. “Oh look, it's the inept couple. Do you think they will find the skill to fall down even without gravity tomorrow?”

Carlos's shoulders shook as he laughed. “If anyone can, these two bunglers should find a way. Truly one hit wonders.”

Faye clenched her fists, eyeing them.

Running her hand along Carlos's shoulder, Roberta pursed her lips. “What will their routine consist of?”

He wiggled a hand. “The worm?” They both dissolved into laughter.

Faye snarled. “You have no idea who you're messing with, you shameless windbags!”

Roberta shook her head and pressed into Carlos's embrace. “Well, after that lambada, one has to wonder if you really understand what love is. Poor little lost lamb.”

“You—!” Faye shouted.

Spike took her hand and whispered. “Leave it to the dance floor. Look, there's something going on.”

She glanced where Spike pointed. Around the edges of the ballroom the remainder of the guests gathered surrounded by security. Up on the balcony the Tutford's appeared looking rather perturbed. Ohmar stepped forward, “Ladies and gentlemen, we had hoped that this afternoon would be a chance for the competing couples to preview the handholds for tomorrow's Zero Gravity Ballet. However, there is another matter that needs addressing. It has come to our chief of security's attention that a theft has occurred. Someone has broken into one of our guest's room and stolen personal property. No one will be permitted to leave this room without being searched.”

More than a few couples startled. Faye tried to focus on which ones, but over a dozen spread out the marks too far, some they hadn't formally met yet, made that task impossible.

“We are asking that everyone cooperate and we can have this matter cleared up shortly and proceed as planned. Chief, you may begin.” Ohmar gestured to the floor where a uniformed man spread out several crew members.

Faye heaved a sigh. Good thing that Spike hadn't picked the lock and checked out the Lansing's room, or they could be the ones in serious trouble. Beside her, Spike reached behind himself and patted the small of his back. He whispered, “Phew, good thing I left the blade back in our room.”

“Blade?” She hissed through her teeth. “You snuck a knife on the ship?”

He blinked slowly. “Well yeah, this is a bounty hunt after all. Things could get dicey. Knew I couldn't slide a gun past security. So, just my small throwing blade in case. I've had it on me most of the time, even the dances. Surprised you hadn't noticed.”

“Where?” She eyed him. “And where were you keeping it in between?”

He watched the security officer approaching them and hastily whispered, “If you haven't found it, I'm sure as hell not telling you now, tequila smuggler.”

The officer consulted a list. “Sterlings? Alright, need to search pockets, and your purse ma'am. Nothing personal. Remove your jacket, sir.”

Spike pulled off his white jacket and held it out. “Of course.”

Faye laid her clutch purse on the table, glad there wasn't much in it. Still, this seemed like a terrible plan. What kind of a ignoramus would still have the drive on them? Unless security searched the rooms of the guests Jim had shown the drive to. They couldn't possibly search all eighty.

Spike turned his pants pockets out as the officer did a quick pat down. Then, searching the jacket the officer only pulled his phone, the old metal lighter, his cigarettes and the large coin. At the final item he held it up and blinked. “Well, that's not what we're looking for. Alright, Mr. Sterling is clear.” He picked up the purse and riffled through the contents. “And looks like Mrs. Sterling as well. No pockets on the dress?”

Faye ran a finger up her side seam. “Where would those be?”

He blushed and handed her purse back, marking the list. “Ok, you two are clear. Thank you for cooperating.”

Swinging back into his jacket, Spike shook his head as the man walked off to the next group. “I take it back about mentioning tight security. I guess they were banking that no one would try anything on here in their so-called polite company.”

Faye leaned closer to him. “They've blown the element of surprise. Even if they're searching the suite rooms at the same time.”

Off to their left a thick man with mutton chops growled and held tight to his jacket. “Don't you dare lay a hand on me. Don't you know who I am? How could you even suspect me of a crime?”

Spike and Faye both turned to watch in tandem with others in the vicinity as the great windbag pounded his chest, thrusting a finger at the younger officer. “No one accuses William T. Brookridge the president of Europa of some petty theft.”

“Sir, I apologize, but it is protocol.”

“Protocol be damned, you little piss-ant. I should have you thrown in prison for this!”

The officer yelped into a microphone on his uniform. “I uhh, sir? … Yeah, figured you'd heard … We got a live one.”

Moments later, the chief arrived. “Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to come with me.”

“Oh no, you don't.”

Faye narrowed her eyes and whispered to Spike, “Who does he think he is?”

“A government official. The typical 'rules don't apply to my ass' kind.” Spike flicked his glance off to the left. “And here we have our friends.”

Jim and Maria wandered along the edge of the crowd. Jim pale as Callisto snow. Maria patted his hand. “Honey, it will turn up. It has to. The ship is large, but someone has it.”

“Who?” he bleated. “If I don't get that prototype back … oh God, I might as well not bother returning home. Father won't even bury me. There won't be enough left!”

Faye pulled a cigarette from her purse and offered it to Jim. When he took it, Spike followed the lead and offered his lighter. Soon, they stood in a group, all four smoking. Faye sighed, “With all this they are bound to find something.”

Jim shuddered. “And if they don't … maybe I can make something that looks like a broken version.”

“Lansing,” Spike glanced around the room, “who did you show this thing to?”

He buried his face for a moment before he muttered, “I've lost track. I was so excited to have this opportunity that practically everyone who I could bend an ear at least heard about it. I showed it to at least a dozen people. Wallstreet, Elger, Tischihama, Ido, Dunningham, Esposito, Deluca, Smithers, Rochelle, Zigert … “ He paused and hung his head. “Why did I repeatedly pull the damn case out? I'm such a moron.”

Faye locked her eyes on Jim, watching for any sign that one of those names bore some trouble. None of them differed. So no one had threatened him, openly. Maria wrapped her arms around him, he flinched even as she tried to comfort him. “Don't call him yet. Give it time to be found.”

“But if I don't, if I wait, it'll be worse. This is Father's work, not mine. And it's … gone.”

Faye exhaled smoke into the air. “How's he going to know when it went missing? There's no way it's left the ship.”

“Unless the crew is involved.” Spike glanced up at the railing of the balcony where the ship captain stood watching the proceedings. “They have the keys for the rooms and the master list.”

“You really think so?”

He lifted a shoulder, “Anyone's a suspect at the moment, Faye. Even our generous hosts.”

_Spike, shut up! _Faye cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. “Eh heh, someone is a little paranoid.”

Spike stiffened, ever so slightly. He took out the coin and started to flick it with his thumb. A slight grin on his face. “Just watched too many movies. You know, dear … those ones where the least suspected dude is the guilty one. The butler did it. I always wanted to be detective. But that wasn't in the cards. Oh well.”

Faye delivered a tight smile. “That's my man, too much imagination for his own good.”

*

“A detective? God, Spike!”

Back in the room after a rather tense dinner due to all the accusatory glares throughout the dining room, Spike drove through a Jeet Kune Do routine having left his undershirt on over his sweatpants. “Jet was a detective.”

She smirked, arms folded across her chest. “Was. And you think you are anything like him?”

“No.” He threw a palm strike into mid air and laughed. “Jet and I are two sides of the same coin.”

“I'd love to know how you figure that.”

Spike didn't answer right away. He did a series of rotational kicks before the coin appeared in his hands. He flicked it into the air and swung his foot around it before snatching the coin from midair. “We both hunt down assholes, from different backgrounds, but the goal is still the same. He thinks like a cop, I think like a criminal.”

Faye sighed. “One of these days you should stop thinking like a crook. You are a bounty hunter now.”

Grunting through the more forceful patterns, he huffed, “Same difference.”

“Why are you going through all this? We're just after hackers. And I seem to remember you making snide remarks about computer geeks being easy targets.”

“I seem to remember a certain hacker hunt leading to an unexpected Vincent, who beat the shit out of me twice.” He shifted into a high guard stance. “I can admit I'd been wrong about that case. And if that happens this time, I intend to be ready.”

A knock on the door interrupted. Spike half heard it, but had no intention of stopping as Faye opened the door. “Maria, Jim. What are you doing here?”

Jim's shaky voice answered, “I'm sorry, I know it's late. But I really need to … I was hoping to … ”

Spike threw himself into the next formation driving down and coming back up in a snake creeping up the damn tree. It felt too good to stop, even with the eyes on him, rudely frozen in a stare.

“Eh heh, sorry,” Faye muttered as she escorted them in, “he gets a little serious about this stuff. You know, helps with the dancing? Although he really could stop since we have company.”

Spike exhaled a breath, stood and dropped the stance. “Yeah yeah.” Picking up the towel he mopped the sweat off and left it over his shoulders as he approached the couch where they'd gathered.

Jim glanced up at Spike, pleading in his eyes. “I hate to ask it, but I am desperate. I know a guy like you has money, just like how I was handed my section of the business.”

Spike suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn't Jim's fault about that part of his cover story.

“My father will be truly upset if he finds out. But … I beg of you, Mr. Sterling, if you could make an investment I could say you took the tech as part of the deal. I'll find a way to pay you back. My father wouldn't be happy, but less likely to kill me.”

Faye held her breath and shook her head in a hidden gesture.

An unnecessary move. “Listen, Jim.” Spike sat down on the coffee table. “I gotta be honest with you here. That plan is likely to make this mess a whole lot worse. Even though security didn't find your little device yet, trying to cover it by a false investment … it's just not worth the risk.”

Jim collapsed into his hands, sobbing. “I told you, Maria. I told you this wouldn't work.” She hugged him tightly.

They weren't looking, Spike took the moment and rolled his eyes. “I didn't say give up. Just that money isn't gonna solve this problem. We'll find it.”

Faye's squeal of warning caught his ears.

Spike lifted a shoulder. “_We_ meaning someone on the ship.”

Wiping his eyes, Jim glanced up. “Father will be expecting a call soon. What can I possibly tell him?”

“Why bring it up? Just keep him on other stuff.”

“You don't know my father. Business is everything.” He took Maria's hands. “Enjoy the cruise, the next event will be my funeral.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Although I would love to maintain the Mon-Wed-Fri schedule, updates will likely be more sporadic from this point to the end of the year. Art commissions slam me right before the holidays, so I have to switch gears for a bit and won't have as much time to dedicate to new chapters. But don't worry-there will not be a lengthy hiatus, just a slower pace. ;) The mystery is brewing, Spike and Faye are still working through the bomb that temporarily tore their team apart, and we still have the backstory that Faye has been actively suppressing to come to light! ;)


	17. Session 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song “Paths of Water”, like pretty much every piece of music mentioned in this fanfic, is real. It's a new age piece, which seems humorous thinking of it in Cowboy Bebop's timeline by comparison, by a composer named Yanni. Don't roll your eyes! I have written a number of decent pieces while listening to his work. ;) He writes good mood music. I had to delve through my eclectic CD collection to find the right piece for what I had in mind for the performance which is ALSO inspired by the idea of what watching Cirque du Soleil would be like without gravity—so no need for safety lines. Without further ado, the next chapter, which is longer than usual as a treat due to the lengthy holiday hiatus:

_ **Session 17** _

There was no  _ sitting _ at tables for this round. With artificial gravity effectively turned off everything not nailed down, including people, floated around the outside of the netted-in dance floor. This time for safety reasons there were no refreshments. Spike mused to himself how much of a mess a floating margarita might make, blobs of alcohol warping across the deck finding its way into hell knew where. None of that mattered to him, he wasn't clean-up staff here. And that was half the fun. The other was in watching the rich saps, who before the gravity dissipated strutted around the deck yapping about their great plans, flail around without a clue what to do to get moving again. What were the chances these planet bound elitists had ever experienced zero-gravity before? 

Clearly the vast majority hadn't.

His fingers remained lightly tangled on the outside of the net as he watched the current couple clad in an elaborate flowing fabric wrap themselves into an accidental bundle going nowhere as the orchestra continue onward with the new agey music. This was the fourth one they'd seen end in a disaster involving wardrobe. At least their own costumes weren't going to cause that issue. Fernando had selected a fitted body suit for Spike done in blue ombre, dark blue at the top fading to a pale blue at the bottom. A few star-like sparkles added a little flare, but there weren't any streamers or stupid capes to get tangled in. Sliding into it earlier felt a lot like getting into a space suit, only clingier and with less life-support hoses. Next to him, Faye's attire was a little more elaborate, the same color scheme only her suit was more akin to a gymnast's. A short gauzy skirt with a slit up the left side floated around her waist, sparkles shimmered when the light caught its undulations. Cygne had clipped a bejeweled tiara into her hair.

The moment Spike chuckled as the couple cried out for help Faye slid her eyes over to him. He shrugged and muttered, “Come on, you heard those stuffed shirts talking. He was the one who said they had this one because of their **great** routine. At this point we've yet to see even one team make it through the full song.”

Faye continued to frown, but a light in her eyes toyed at mirth. She couldn't hide it from him. Clearly she was as amused as he was. Pulling herself closer she murmured, “At this point all we have to do is not get stuck. Remember the plan?”

“Course. The music makes it simple. We just push off stuff to the beats. If one gets stuck, the other lends a hand. The few movements we have planned should be easy enough, we've done shit like that on the _Bebop_.”

“And the hand signals. Those are critical.”

Spike grinned and waved his hands mock-frantically. “This means 'help me I'm outta gas'!”

Faye rolled her eyes. “Lunkhead.”

“Relax. We got this just on real life experience.” Gripping the net he crawled around and turned so he was upside down to Faye. “Too many of these fools are still thinking with gravity in mind. Look at how they try to stay even with the floor. There is no 'right way up'.”

That cracked a half-smile, her eyes roved all along the netting where the couples remained what would have been upright. “And we'll take full advantage of that.”

“Absolutely.”

For the most part Spike had tuned out the announcers commentary. After all, in this round it was entirely repetitive, picking on the over ambitious couples getting stranded and needing to be rescued. The next couple swung through the gap of the net and waved cockily. The squeal of grinding teeth caught Spike's attention. Faye white-knuckled the net, her glare locked on Roberta as she lifted her chin directly at them. “What is it with her!”

Spike remarked dryly, “She's trying to get under your skin. Not sure you should even watch their routine. We already know they've done this before.”

“Oh, I'm watching. And wishing every second that they will fail.”

“Not likely with their caliber.”

“Accidents can happen.”

Spike chuckled and kept his tone sarcastic. “Faye, a poor sport? I'm surprised at you.”

“_Ladies and gentlemen, here we will finally see the Zero-G Ballet the way it's meant to be. Please welcome the Espositos dancing to a selection from Swan Lake.”_

The orchestra's music filled the room. At least they had been sensible enough to strap the musicians in and use digital sheet music. Of course the couple floated around the bars and rings as though by magic. Grace, power, control. And choreography. Spike didn't know the first thing about  _ Swan Lake _ , maybe except that it had something to do with Earthen waterfowl. Birds that were apparently lithe and graceful, not that he'd ever seen a swan. There was no doubt, the Espositos appeared to be soaring through the air executing somersaults and pinpoint accuracy as one after the other they swung through the target hoops. As the first couple to actually make it to the end of their piece, they made it look easy.

Gliding along the netting they paused right in front of Faye and Spike, smarmy grins plastered on their faces. Carlos looked Spike up and down and snorted a laugh. “I didn't realize the circus was in town.”

Spike met him with a level gaze. “You should have, it appears your monkey got loose.”

Roberta's brow furrowed as she caught the remark. “At least I have a sense of grace, unlike you two. We're about to see how one can fall without gravity.”

Faye's hand grabbed the net in front of Spike, she pulled herself even with Roberta. “No. You're about to see what commanding space really looks like.”

The Espositos huffed and moved along to the opening. Spike and Faye waited for them to clear before shifting along and shooting the gap.

“_And now we have Spike and Faye Sterling. Let's hope this round at least stays in orbit.”_

“_That's right, Derrick. After their last round this team can't afford a bobble. They need to really perform for this. And I just don't see how this can work without a miracle.”_

“_Will the stars align? Let's see. Spike and Faye Sterling performing to Paths of Water.”_

Spike pushed off from the net on one end of the dance arena aiming for a hand hold in the middle height of the space. Across the way, Faye set herself directly opposite. Even from this far he spied the key to their unique approach to this round concealed in Faye's hand. They braced their feet against the metal, waiting for the first techno style chords from the orchestra to fill the air.

In a circular motion Faye flicked out a clear globe filled with a blue liquid by a gauze ribboned-tail. The moment she released it, the target traveled like a comet toward what would have been the ceiling, striking and rebounding near the center. Spike and Faye grinned at one another, waiting for the agreed upon beat. Despite a lack of choreography they had at least listened to the piece enough for a good feel. Anticipating it, Spike glanced back down at the ball,  _ Let the chase begin! _

There were no rules against props. What better way to foster momentum than a game of tag? In tandem they pushed off from the braces on a collision course for the racing target equidistant from them. Whoever got it first was it. To trade all they needed to do was catch the streamer and pull. The idea of course being that it looked like a routine instead of a series of unplanned exchanges.

Launched in a twisting spiral toward the ceiling, Spike stretched out his hand grasping for the streamer. His fingers brushed it, only a second later the tail whipped away, the ball firmly in Faye's hand as she pushed off the ceiling and twisted away. He laughed and caught one of the bars, spinning around it and diving after her. There was no up or down as he corkscrewed through the space. To the lively music Faye teased him as she pushed against the floor and sent herself crossing on his path. He reached for the streamer only to have it slide through his fingers again.

Back at the ceiling level she wove through handholds, shooting like a comet herself. Spike held off, hovering close to the floor and shifting the angle of his feet until just the right moment. Anticipating a gap where she couldn't change her trajectory, he shot off on a collision course of his own. His fingers caught the streamer and tore the ball from her grip. Of course, she hung on enough to whip him around, sending him off toward the nets. But the momentum's trade off did their trick. Neither of them wound up flailing. Spike laid back with his hands behind his head in a lazy taunt.

Faye caught one of the holds and shot back across the ring crossing fire with him as he let the streamer flick by her. Accompanied by the music it all seemed planned. The dives and rebounds, swings and slings in time with the beats. The ball traded back and forth in the agile, playful flight. Cygne's vision of dancing water sprites dashed out in the arena.

Of course they had one major goal to achieve. From the ceiling, Spike glanced at the hoops. Across the ring Faye was close to the right position. He swung the ball by the tail. She snapped a nod. Time for the plan to execute. At the proper angle they pushed off, colliding dead center. They both grabbed the tail of the streamer meeting in a yin yang formation and spinning, feet planted toe to heel. Centripetal force kept them in motion. It took a bit of work, but they spun the axis on what would have been the side and at the exact right moment, Spike released his hold, letting Faye take the ball. Separated they corkscrewed through the air in an arc that carried them in time to the music simultaneously through the separate hoops. 

Gasps and cheers drowned out the orchestra.

“_Did you just see that? Aside from the Espositos, no other couple has gotten both. And not even those two at the same time!”_

Rebounding back across the arena, Spike and Faye high-fived each other. Spike grabbed the streamer and swiped the ball back, restarting another round of keep away.

“_Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a come back. Not only has the Sterling's rhythm returned, but they brought it in spades!”_

Faye chased Spike in a weave through the posts, her fingers caught the streamer and yanked it tight around the pole. The momentum slung shot Spike around the other side tethering it for a moment before he released it, floating backward with a kick against the post. Faye dove and he followed on her heels. The music marked the round was almost complete, that meant they had one more thing to do.

Spiraling to the violins Spike shot past Faye and caught the streamer. This time she didn't let go. He wove it around her until the end paused his momentum. Brought together, they floated through one of the hoops together. They caught the edge and pulled themselves into a seated position, waving out at everyone.

Spike whispered to Faye, “I'd hate to be the Espositos about now.”

She clutched the ball and grinned. “Whose idea was this?”

“Does it matter? It worked. And frankly, that was fun. We have to try this on the _Bebop_ next time the gravity drive fails.”

They drifted back outside the net to the thunderous applause and the matching scowls of Roberta and Carlos.

“_We have to wait for the official scores, but I do believe that the Sterlings have come back from the brink!”_

Time passed slowly to the attempts of the remaining couples until at long last the board flashed the rankings. Spike and Faye laughed as their names shot up the board into forth place collectively. The Espositos were still the lead, but by their sour expressions clearly they were not content with the new order.

“Well Faye, looks like we're safe again.”

*

Lingering on the threshold of sleep, Spike let his arm dangle from the couch onto the plush carpeted floor. At least this was a nice couch. Comfortable. It didn't squeak when he shifted like the yellow one on the  _ Bebop _ . The memory of faux leather penetrated by the scent of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol, and the tang of blood teased him. As much as he liked its embrace, this couch wasn't like that. It wasn't home. 

He heaved a sigh. Today's round was amusing, but it certainly wasn't the physical draw the others had been. Something about being weightless. Some of the other couples had indeed seemed weary after the gravity kicked back in. The few hours was nothing compared to the week he'd experienced when the  _ Bebop _ had to limp back to Venus with a busted drive. Sleeping during that interval had been interesting, to put it mildly. There was something disconcerting to drifting around the ship able to turn up anywhere. It was no wonder Jet had strapped himself into the pilot seat. The worst was wondering where Ed and Ein would float through. More than once he'd turned to get a face full of corgi fur. 

He had to smile a bit. Though he wouldn't say it aloud, he kinda missed the mutt padding around beneath his feet. That goofy grin of his.

Stretching out, Spike burrowed deeper into the couch, tugging the blanket up even though it caught on the t-shirt he hadn't bothered to take off before hitting the sack.

In the quiet night a strange sound drew his focus. He held his breath for a moment, unsure if he had really heard anything or if it was just that strange edge of sleep effect. But the raspy sound came again. He sat up turning toward the bed. Beneath the covers Faye stirred.

Tossing his blanket back, Spike quietly crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. Faye's tense features, stained with tears, drew him closer. Her hand gripped the pillow, squeezing it tight. Each breath came in a tight huff, the effort to suppress a sob.

Spike's hand hovered over her shoulder. Was she still mad at him? At the round she seemed at least passive about things, however back in the room she was crystal clear that the bed ban was still in effect. Still, he couldn't just leave her. Taking a deep breath, he braced his arm over the fading bruise on his belly and bent over nudging her. Faye thrashed under the covers. Her eyes not opening as she turned away, rolling toward the edge. She was going to fall. Spike reached across and grabbed her shoulder, tugging her back to the center and up even as her arms pulled her closer. Faye's forehead came to rest against his shoulder, her fingers bunched the fabric of his shirt, pulling it tight across his back. There she clung, hot tears soaking his shirt.

She muttered, “It's not fair, Dad!”

_ Dad? Okaaay, that's a new one. Far as I know I haven't fathered anyone.  _ Shifting back, Spike rested against the headboard. One hand rubbing between her should blades as sobs racked her body. He didn't utter a single word as he held her. Minutes ticked by before she sniffed, catching her breath. The tension changed. Her hands released their death grip and she pushed back, scrubbing the tears from her eyes. She blinked, her hands braced against his shoulders. Slowly she followed the drenched patch up and jerked backward when their eyes met. By reflex her hand slipped down and struck his gut. Spike grunted, it wasn't as tender now as it had been and this time the strike wasn't nearly as hard, but still!  _ This is what I get for trying to be a nice guy.  _

Belatedly it seemed to register, she covered her gasp with a hand. “Oh shit! The bruise! I didn't mean—”

He forced a smile. “It's ok. You weren't awake yet. I get it.”

She bit her lip. “Why … why are you holding me?”

“Because you almost fell off the bed and your father wasn't here to save you from gravity.”

She reached back and fixed some stray hairs, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I uhh … well … ” Her eyes roved, but she didn't struggle to leave his loose embrace. All it would take was a shift of her weight and she'd be free. She didn't move, as she wiped the tears again her shoulders fell. “Oh God … ”

He kept his voice low, just above a whisper, “Some nightmare, huh.”

Faye wilted, her hands folded in her lap.

He let the silence stretch. This wasn't something to be pushed, like so many well-meaning often did. No words were right. The decision to share was up to the dreamer. That domain, sacred territory.

She exhaled roughly, head bowed. “It's stupid. You'll laugh at me.”

Placing a finger beneath her chin he drew her eyes towards his. “I swear to you I will never laugh concerning something like this. If you need to talk, talk. If you want me to get the hell away and leave you to your thoughts, say so.”

Faye's stunned gaze bore into him. “You … you're serious.”

He nodded.

“I … I don't know where to even start.”

He noted she still didn't withdraw, instead she turned, nestling into his lap and leaning sideways against his chest, her head below his chin.

“It was so long ago, seems so childish to dwell on it now. A world away.”

“We don't choose what we see when our eyes are closed.” Closing his hand over hers, he gave it a squeeze. The connection, something to anchor to if she needed it. “I promise, once you begin I won't say a word.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she stared at their embraced hands. “Back on Earth, years before the accident that left me in cryo-suspension, I was in my first year of high school … ”

*

The performance hall buzzed with excitement, packed to the brim with visitors from various schools. Every year the Water Lion Dance Competition had been a grand festival, always hosted in Singapore's finest venue decked to the nines. Schools from all over sent their best dance pairs, usually the older, upper-class students. It was a sea of finery; satin, silks, chiffon, sequins, in abundance. Faye hung back in the hall disbelieving her good fortune. Two of her classmates from the cheer squad dance line, Suyin and Biyu, fingered the fabric of her ball gown.

Biyu hopped up and down. “Oh, I'm so jealous you get to dance today. What an honor!”

Suyin's hands tugged lightly on Faye's chiffon ruffle in an ice-blue. “You'll show those upper-class wenches what our dance line is made of. Oh Faye, do us proud!”

Her heart fluttered a thousand beats per minute, and the contest had yet to begin. Heat rose to her cheeks. “Do you think I can? I mean … do you think we're good enough?”

Suyin laughed. “Are you joking? I saw Daiyu rehearsing yesterday. She's good, but for all her mouth flaps she doesn't hold a candle to you and Yan's routine! You'll make her eat her words. Just cause she's a senior she thinks she rules the school.”

“Not after today.” Biyu hugged Faye and gave her diamond-studded tiara a final envious touch. “You'll wear the crown this year, we just know it.”

Faye beamed as the girls adjusted the tiny silk flowers on her dress. “Now I just have to keep the butterflies from flying away with my nerves for the next couple hours.”

“When do you dance?”

“Towards the end. It's ok. I get to watch the others first.”

“Are your parents here?”

Faye nodded. “Of course. It's rare for a first year to compete.”

Suyin waved a hand to Biyu. “They'd never miss something epic as this.”

Security eyed the girls and pointed at his watch. They both gave Faye a final hug. “Time for us to go. We'll be watching. You go, girl! You got this.”

Faye waved, bubbling over in excitement as the announcers opened the contest. From the shadows she watched as couple after couple took the floor and danced their hearts out, the music sweeping them away one after the next in a parade of swirling colors. But none held the devotion she did. It wasn't possible. In her heart she felt it, she was born to dance, born to win this, born to wear the crown. Nothing else mattered.

Halfway through the contest she glanced around, panic beginning to build. Where was Yan? Her third year partner nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was at the other end? This building was huge, she pondered as she gazed out at the bleachers crowded to standing room only. Again her heart raced. Dancing with the cheer squad at a sports event was one thing. That crowd was mostly there for the game. Today it was all about the couples exhibition. Tiny beads of sweat clung to her skin threatening to smudge her make-up. Everything had to be perfect. All about the details. All about the first time it would be her … just Yan and her with all eyes taking in their precision routine.

Her classmates would see her for the first time as no longer that shy girl hiding behind her bangs struggling to find the right words. No. Just like the video she and the girls had made, this time she would speak, but speak with fluid motion.

Her phone rang from the bag holding her supplies. Faye snatched it out and blinked at the name on the screen. _Yan?_ She stabbed the icon and answered. “Hello?”

“_Oh hey, good thing I caught you, Faye.”_ The swim team star's voice conveyed his usual relaxed tone.

“Yan, where are you? They're starting the second half. There's only four more couples before us.”

“_Yeah … there's a little problem.”_

Her heartbeat drowned out the music in the background. What could possibly be wrong? Had he gotten sick or been in an accident on the way to the hall? “Problem?”

“_I woulda called sooner, but I just got out of the principle's office. You see, uhhh, last night the swim team had a little party. Things got a bit outta hand and well, it led to a prank on the VP's house. Hate to say it, but we're kinda suspended from extra-curricular for awhile. Not to mention, thanks to Lee's bone-headed idea we'll be scrubbing paint off siding for the rest of today.”_

The horizon wobbled as Faye's heart all but stopped. _The rest of today? Suspended? What about the routine? This is a couples dance … I can't do this without you! _Her voice cracked as she fought for a reply, “But … the dance contest … we've worked so hard … ”

He sighed. _“I know. I'm sorry. I really am. Trust me, I tried to talk to the principle about it, but he said no exceptions.” _A voice broke over the back ground, he muffled the phone and called out, _“Be right there, Lee, I told ya I had to make a call.” _Softening his voice he came back onto the line._ “Faye, I'd be there if I could. But the vice principle is like a pissed off hawk. I can't sneak away. I gotta go.”_

The line went dead before Faye managed to find her voice. “ … bye … ” She stared at the screen long after it faded to black. Her thoughts stumbled in the marsh of this revelation.

Yan wasn't coming.

Without her partner there was no couple.

Without the couple … there was no routine.

Faye sank down onto the chair that before she hadn't dared to for the sake of not wrinkling her gown. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Here in the darkened corridor there was no one to turn to. Her friends and family inaccessible up in the stands somewhere, waiting for her … for a routine that would not happen.

It didn't seem real. Weeks of work getting the moves down into a perfect performance and in a single call all of that stripped away. The phone in her limp hand weighed a ton.

“Faye?” Her head snapped up to find a woman with a clipboard. “One routine left before you're up.” The woman glanced around clearly searching for Yan.

Wide-eyed, Faye met her searching gaze. She couldn't find her voice, but this was it. Reality descended as she lowered her eyes to her lap. “I'm sorry, but … withdrawing.”

The woman asked, “Are you certain?”

Painfully slow, Faye nodded. Her hand reached up and pulled off the tiara, strands of hair dangled forward hiding her face. The tiara her parents had purchased specifically for today. Tears pooled fresh in her eyes, her chest ached. All for nothing. How could this happen?

A shadow fell across her. The rustling of Daiyu's gown drew Faye's gaze up. Daiyu flashed a cocky smile. “Well well well, so this is why my turn is earlier. The little upstart who thought she could dance with the big girls got cold feet, huh.”

“No.” Faye squeaked, her hoarse voice cutting out. “That's not it—”

Daiyu tussled Faye's hair roughly leaving it a mess. “Doesn't matter. You would have lost anyway. First years don't belong here. _You_ don't belong here. The only reason you are is because Daddy bought your way in.”

“He did not! Yan and I worked hard to qualify!”

She looked around. “Who? I don't see anyone but a loser! And besides,” her grin intensified, “sounds like he and his buddies got in trouble. Oopsie. No competition for you. Better luck next time.” Daiyu waved a dismissive hand and sauntered over to hang off her partner's arm just before their names were called.

Deflated, Faye turned and ran deeper into the hall away from the music, the decorations, the cheering … in a dark corner she collapsed into the ruffles of her gown and sobbed, unaware of the passage of time.

Hands embraced her. She clung to the woolen lapel, the heady scent of her father's sandalwood cologne penetrating her stuffy nose. She nestled into his arms, unable to open her tear-crusted eyes. “It's not fair, Dad! It's not fair!”

His chest rumbled as he spoke softly, his arms wrapped tight around her. “What happened, sweetheart? We were so worried when they skipped your name.”

Her mother's hand rested over hers as she shuddered in frustration. “He didn't come. My partner … he didn't come!”

“Maybe something happened.”

“It did!” Faye wailed. “That idiot! That irresponsible moron and his friends got caught in a prank. Last night! He knew about the contest, but—how could he screw this up!”

Dad's hand rubbed her back. He bent down kissing her hair. “Shhh, it's ok. Come on. Let's go home. It's only a dance. There will be more.”

Through blurred eyes she gazed up at him. “No. There won't be.” She thrust the tiara into his hands.

*

Faye fell into silence, her eyes refocused, slowly coming back to the present to the hand still embracing hers. The warm scent of the familiar cologne confusing memory with reality. Why had she selected _that_ scent for him? She turned her head half expecting to find Spike's eyes closed and the lunkhead sound asleep. Instead she was shocked to find his uneven gaze studying her with a soft intensity. The petty cares of a foolish child, that was all this haunting dream was.

“See? I told you … ” she began only to stop short as Spike shook his head.

He didn't laugh, he wasn't smiling. It was that damn poker face of his, unreadable as he un-twined his fingers from hers. He reached over to her nightstand and picked up the tiara she'd worn for the Zero-G round. Those eyes, distant and studious as he turned it in front of them both, for she still leaned against his chest. When he spoke in that low rumble she felt the vibration, “So that's really why you chased this bounty here. Some jerk of a boy screwed up your dream.”

Her heartbeat hammered. The moment he put it into words banished any denial.

“A chance to claim what slipped from your grasp.”

Oh how she tried to shake her head, but the gesture wouldn't come. Instead her head tipped forward and she hugged herself.

The weight of the tiara pressing down on her hair brought her head back up. Her fingers caught the hairpiece as she met Spike's firm gaze down at her, a soft grin on his face. “Screw the bounty. Let's crown you the Ihy Intergalactic Dancing Queen.”

Faye's jaw hung for a moment. “But … you … wait … ”

He shrugged. “The bounty? Heck, compared to the prize we're not talking much of a woolong gap. And hackers aren't exciting anyway.” Cupping her chin, he nodded, “You're talented enough to knock the Espositos down and steal their thunder if we focus on it.”

“You really … you really mean it?”

Spike nodded.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight before backing off and biting her lip. “I didn't mean anything more.”

Chuckling he lifted a shoulder. “Between friends.” He rolled out from behind her, pushing off from the bed. “But, if we're going to, we need to get some shut-eye.”

Faye grabbed his wrist. “I uhh … Spike, it's … I'd prefer if tonight you'd stay here. You know … in case … ”

He raised an eyebrow, lingering on the edge. “Gravity?”

“Yeah … gravity.” She tugged the covers up, settling in. To her relief, Spike pulled the blanket back and climbed underneath. His eyes closed. She set the tiara back on the nightstand, the gems sparkled even in the low light. _Dancing queen … after all these years?_

*

It took longer than usual, but at last Faye's breathing dropped into a deep sleep. Spike's eyes cracked open. He cupped his hands behind his head lying on his back for a few minutes to be certain she was truly out. His mind tossed an idea around. The next round was the swing dance. Their ranking was solid, but to take a true run at claiming the title they really needed to pull something spectacular for the rest of the rounds. Something these high brows had never experienced before.

The plan finalized enough that Spike carefully extracted himself from the bed and grabbed his phone. Out on the enclosed patio he dialed Tomato's extension. After a pause, a disheveled Ed blinked through the screen. “Hey, I know it's the middle of the night, but I need a favor. Can you find some sheet music for me? I'll need the files for an eight piece band.”

She yawned. “Course Ed can. But why mids the night?”

Spike glanced over his shoulder, Faye was still out cold. “It's a big secret, kay? A surprise for Faye.”

“Why?”

“Cause you're about to help us win the next round if you do. And Faye might get mad if she finds out I'm changing her selection without asking.”

Ed scratched her head. “Why don't you ask her?”

He grinned. “Cause kiddo, this is a hand worth hiding until the right moment.”

Half-awake Ed shrugged. “Spike's secret, got it. What's Ed searching for?”


	18. Session 18

_ **Session 18** _

The practice room blurred in the whip-spin as Faye came to the end of her arm, halted by Spike's grip on her wrist. If he let go, there would be no stopping the momentum, that is until the wall. But he didn't. His firm fingers kept their promise and let her swing out all the way.

They'd already been at it for an hour, working on individual moves and building short sequences under Fernando's watch. Move after move Faye found herself abandoning any reservations she'd harbored entering the room. Especially when Spike seized both her wrists.

“Alright,” Fernando clapped the timing, “get ready both of you, on three. One – two – three!”

On the slick floor, Faye's feet slipped between his legs. A split-second later the momentum snapped the other direction and pulled her up, feet flying back. The world swung upside down. Locking her arms, in a double wrist grip, she stared down at Spike's confident eyes as he became a solid pillar for her handstand.

“There it is!” Fernando threw a fist in the air. “Perfect stall. Hold it! Don't let the momentum tip you. You ok, Spike?”

He nodded. “Weight's dead center.”

“Faye?”

She had to laugh, her arms weren't even shaking this time. “Feels like I'm on the floor, not up in the air.”

“Excellent, release on my count. Three – two – one!”

Faye felt the tension in Spike's arms shift the moment he unlocked his left elbow. She tucked into the pike as he brought her down into a circular swing, whipping beneath him like she was jump rope. Off to his right she landed on her feet, rebounded off the floor and spun. Her hands on his shoulders as she hopped over his back into an overhead vault.

Fernando strode in front of them and grinned. “Faye, you make that look as easy as like a game of leap frog! Considering you're clearing six feet easily, that is impressive.”

She took in a deep breath, one she needed after this workout. They were purposefully pushing this round, and to her surprise most of the suggestions and combinations came from Spike. Fernando simply helped to spot and shape them. Faye knew the basics of the swing dance, but she discovered it was the gentry version, stripped down and polished. What Spike brought to the room was a style Fernando confirmed as more authentic.

Standing back, Fernando rubbed his chin. “Alright, we have a few good sequences. Now we need to string them. Spike, as much as you were used to just going with the flow, that won't cut it this time. The level we're pushing, you both need to anticipate, or someone will get hurt.”

Drying his hands with a small towel, Spike chuckled. “Not the half of it. I'm used to having women cut in on one another and going with that flow.”

Faye shot him a dark look. “Women?”

Spike held up his hands. “An alley cat in a jazz hall is a different situation than a pure couples dance. I wasn't courting the kittens there, they were swarming me. Trust me, the last thing I wanted to the end the night with was a fist fight with a pissed off boyfriend. But once old Dizzy started to pound the keys that floor got packed, and the girls all begged to get thrown around.” He gave an easy laugh. “That's the thing about swing, it's the guy's job to make sure his partner looks stellar. We're just the anchor.”

A thrill ran up her spine. How high could the other guys throw? With Fernando's aid they'd maximized it. From how Spike lifted her to how she moved during take off. As Fernando had confirmed, Spike knew what he was doing, but his 'training' came from the heat of dance floor, it was all improvised. A few pointers took the raw performance and solidified it. After eight solid executions she trusted Spike would be there to catch her when she came back down.

The revelation struck her like a blow.

She trusted Spike.

The terrible betrayal she'd harbored evaporated when she hadn't been paying attention. Replaced by the memory of the other night; Spike placing the tiara on her head, a solemn promise in his tone. The goal shifted. They would force the stars to align to a victory over the contest, drag her long dead dream to existence.

Voices penetrated her runaway train of thought, they'd continued to plan while she'd been distracted. Fernando gestured around the floor, “If you two can pull that off, that should secure first place. Here's the deal, the Esposito's swing routine is solid, but it's been the same one the last two years. I glanced in the practice room during their session. No changes. The judges have already seen it. What they haven't seen is … ” he took Faye's hand and spun her toward Spike, “ … this.”

Faye flashed her gambler's smile, her fist pumped before her. “We'll mop the floor with those snobs!”

“Only,” Fernando's hands rested on their shoulders, “if we finish the routine. Ok, let's take it from the top.”

Spike snapped into the start pose and held out his hand, a cocky grin plastered on his face. Throwing her head back, Faye closed the distance and grabbed his hand and whipped out to the end. Rolling back into his embrace she fell into the low dip all while Fernando clapped the timing.

Faye came upright and blinked. Wait. Fernando kept the timing to what would be their music … yet Spike appeared to be counting? He never counted! Why were his lips moving? Spike had done everything else by the feel.

About to ask, Faye's chance dashed away as Spike prepared to launch her. In a swift pull her feet left the ground and suddenly, in the grip of the thrilling flight not a damn thing mattered!

*

Hair still sopping wet, Spike ruffled it with a towel after his shower, following Faye's. They'd both worked up quite a sweat during the practice, pushing the vigorous routine to the edge of their capabilities. He had to admit the excitement of tomorrow's round teased him. The bounty hunt now a placement based on pure skill, a whole nother animal.

Out in the room, Faye sat on the couch dressed for bed. Something on the screen held her attention. Spike glanced at the flashing images as the newscaster spoke.

“_The threat of Europa Pox Virus continues to grow spreading toward the capitol city along with the migration of the suspected carrier, the Eura-spar flocks. Scientists are still uncertain if the illness's vector is the bird or the mosquito that comprises the bulk of its diet. Hospitals are filling to capacity as victims of all ages fall ill. If symptoms are caught early, recovery is possible with treatments. However, there are concerns of viral strain mutations that could lead to resistance. With the threat of its population reaching unsustainable levels, Brookridge, the president of Europa, contacted his council last night and has locked down the ports from all non-essential transports. Europa is essentially in quarantine until further notice.”_

Faye shook her head. “Glad we're not there. Could end up in quarantine for who knows how long. My skin itches just thinking about it.”

Spike leaned on the back of the couch. “They don't close ports for nothing. This is getting serious.”

“Wait a minute … Brookridge? Isn't he on this ship?”

“You mean the asshole who tried to flash his rank so he didn't get searched? Yeah, that's him.”

“Wonder if he'll be considered an essential transport after the contest. He should be on Europa fixing this.”

“He's probably here so he won't catch the damn thing. My guess is he'll find another elite hole to hide in once this is over.”

“_In other news Io's attempt at a hydro-pod farm in their Death Valley Plain ran into a serious design flaw. Critical moisture escaped through a series of poorly designed valves in the water delivery pipeline. The economically strapped colony has suffered many setbacks in agriculture, making this one yet another as it struggles for self sufficiency. In the midst of this latest famine, Io's president has been under fire. Accusations of misappropriated or even vanishing funds intended for crop research continue to fly while there seems to be no answers from official channels. Citizens are urging imports of off-world crops to support the population of those unable to afford relocation. Imports have remained limited on the desert moon colony despite the pressure. Cost has been the leading factor.”_

Faye heaved a sigh. “Greedy sons of bitches. I swear, shit like this is what kept me space bound. The way society screws people over.”

Spike glanced down at her. “Seem to remember a certain someone screwing over the shipmates she crashed with a few times.”

“I … umm, well.” She sucked on a fingernail before looking up at him, sheepishly. “There is a difference between a couple of guys and an entire colonized moon.”

He half-lidded his eyes. “Tell that to the guys you left stranded with all the coolant drained and no cash left in the safe to repair it. You do know that the _Bebop_ is essentially Jet's whole world. Mine too for the past handful of years since he extended the invitation.”

Faye glanced away from him, a slight blush on her cheeks. “I know that **now**. But … I admit, I didn't back then. To me it was just a ship, a place to crash. And you guys … just … ”

He rolled his fingers on the back of the couch, “Victims.”

“Heh heh.” She shrugged her shoulders. “At the time, yeah.” Her finger idly traced her up-drawn knee.

“We're not your personal bank, no more than the ponies are prone to give withdrawals.”

Still preoccupied by her kneecap, she murmured, “I admit I was wrong about you guys.”

Spike blinked, and leaned forward. “Come again? I'm not sure I heard that right?”

Faye looked up, biting her lip. “I was wrong, the _Bebop_ is so much more than a safe harbor. You two have become like my family.”

That took quite a bit to wrench out of her. Spike was about to reply when his phone rang. “Hey, speak of the devil.” He picked it up and answered. “What's up, Jet?”

“_Good question. Got an update for you two. Have you caught the news yet?”_

“Just saw something about the Europa quarantine. Is that what you're talking about?”

On the other end, Jet nodded.  _“Could say that. More along the lines of one of the contestants.”_

Faye leaned forward. “Brookridge?”

“_No. Ed stumbled across a message instructing a certain Dr. Adenine that a ship was headed to rendezvous in four days with the Golden Calf and take him directly back to Europa.”_

Spike scratched his head. “Well, he's out of the contest anyway. So all in all, he shouldn't be missed. Cept he seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“_That's not all there is.” _Jet rested his forehead in his hand. _“There've been short wave communications.”_

That brought Spike upright. “Shortwave?” He glanced out the window to the star scape drifting by peacefully. Uninterrupted. They were not in hyperspace at all, and not near much of anything. “From and to where?”

“_Good question. We're a good ways behind. Ed's had a lock on the Golden Calf's communications since she hacked in for the participant list. There's been no sign their staff is aware of her link. Since then, she's been monitoring everything, public and private. Most is the typical chatter. These have been encoded shortwaves close to the ship. Code she's even having trouble getting a lock on. Have you seen anything out there?”_

He shook his head. “No. Which means the source is far enough to be out of immediate range. But who and why?”

“_It's possible the planned hack is from off the ship.”_

“Except for one thing.”

Faye leaned forward, pointing toward the wall. “The micro-drive proto-type stolen from the Lansings. Maybe they intend to hand it off?”

“Either way at least one ship will be making contact before the end of the cruise. Given security here that's not encouraging.”

“_Micro-drive? What are you two talking about?”_

Spike crossed his arms. “Remember that scream when I cut the call short? Yeah, it was some neighbors of ours. A piece of tech got swiped without a trace. Word is it still hasn't turned up. Now I wonder if it is still on the ship, or if those transmissions you mentioned mean it's gone. Either way, we have a big round tomorrow and it's getting late.”

“_We'll let you know if we stumble on anything else.”_ Jet darted off the screen yelling, _“You damn hunk of metal! Drop that right now!”_

When Jet didn't come back, Spike shrugged. “Ok, well good night.” Clicking the phone off, he stretched and headed for the bed with a yawn. Faye's navy blue dress hung out waiting for the round. He smiled to himself, _The plan should work perfect._

Faye glanced across the room to Spike's nightstand, or rather an object on it. “Hold on, whose fedora is that?”

She'd referred to the black hat with a cream ribbon. “Fernando's.”

“Why is it here?”

“I'm borrowing it from him.” Spike pulled up the covers and flopped down into the bed.

“Uhhh, why?”

He smiled as he cupped his head in his hands, eyes closed. “You'll see.”


	19. Session 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the swing-jazz round Spike and Faye dance to a song called Zoot Suit Riot. This real song is by Cherry Poppin' Daddies and is amazingly fun to listen to. Their routine was choreographed to it. There are two versions of this Session published: AO3 has the lyrics worked in so you can envision the timing better, Fanfiction does not have the lyrics due to the site rules. The second set of lyrics is made up by me just for amusement sake. ENJOY!

_ **Session 19** _

The jazz band on the stage was small, but man they made up for it in sound! Faye tapped her hand on the table to the lively rhythm of each jazz number, letting it carry her away. This round was going fast, their turn on the floor approaching swiftly. This time the order had them before the Espositos, it seemed they'd chosen this as their wild card round, previous champions could select one round to pick their place in the running. They chose to go last. Probably to be the last in the judges minds. That didn't bother her.

What bothered her was that she hadn't seen Spike yet. True, the dance rounds came earlier in the day this time, he'd dashed down to Fernando's room for some vague reason with the parting words not to worry, they just had something to work out before the round. Her searching eyes picked out Fernando and Cygne barely concealed in the shadows. Where the hell was Spike?

She smoothed out the navy blue A-line dress tailored specifically for her. Beneath, a pair of matching tap shorts, because going completely vertical meant her skirt was bound to fly all the way up, or rather down in the handstand. That wasn't counting the throw. The leather soles of her shoes were perfect for sliding around the floor. They were going to rule this round. Excitement thrummed, mixed with anxiety. Their names on the board were right after this routine, and this song was winding down! Where the hell was that lunkhead?

At the last note, before even the announcers could cut in, she spied the familiar black and white fedora over by the band. Spike, clad in his typical blue suit with the thin black tie, gestured to the trumpet player who bent down. The two chatted for a moment before the player smiled and laughed. He leaned back to the others in the band and they went into a huddle.

Spike turned and hustled toward Faye's table with a swagger in his step, the black-and-white saddle dance shoes in place of his typical boots. That was the only part that remained of the outfit that had been planned. The fedora cocked on his head so the shadow covered his right eye. His hair the bed-raggled fluff it always had been before. He looked like a cocksure gangster. At the edge of the table, he held out a hand for her. “You ready, Faye?”

She blinked up into his eyes, and instantly something else caught her attention. Hard to see, something she missed across the room, but a small device tucked over his ear with a wire. His hand reached into his pants pocket and she swore she heard a soft click.

“Spike where … ”

He held up a finger and pulled her to her feet as the spotlight dashed on them.

“_Apparently there is a last minute change in the music selection for … haha, well, should have guessed this one, Spike and Faye Sterling.”_

“_Eh? What are they doing, Veronica?”_

“_We've heard some tame numbers so far, but it looks like the Sterlings are really out for blood in this round.”_

“_That's a serious remark.” _There was a brief pause then Derrick continued. _“Wait a second, their song is called Zoot Suit Riot? Alright, I wanna hear this!”_

_Zoot Suit Riot! That isn't the song I picked! _Faye snapped her head up toward Spike who stood halfway across the floor from her, striking that pose that only now, back in his typical attire, she realized embodied the slick criminal.

Beneath the brim of the hat he grinned at her and mouthed soundlessly, “Trust me.”

Faye's breathing quickened. What the hell was he doing? Fernando's words from the rehearsal echoed, _Spike knows what he's doing, the authentic swing-jazz born of rebellious spirit. The judges, used to the neutered style of the dance halls, won't be expecting a performance anywhere near this._ Fernando wouldn't have let them take the risk if it wouldn't pay off.

She met Spike's confident gaze and swallowed. Planting a hand on her hip she snapped it out and flared her attitude, letting it show. _Trust him. If anyone can steal the win, it's us._

Suddenly she felt a little like Bonnie to his Clyde.

Spike pointed his finger like a gun to the drummer and pulled the trigger. The drum beat on alternating toms started everything. Their feet tapped to the rhythm that only now made sense to Faye as she heard this song for the first time. The guitar started a downscale run that signaled her to spin into Spike's waiting hand. He took it and slung her out to the other side and back into his embrace.

To the blare of the trumpet, he winked at her and released for the series of tandem tap-like steps, their feet sliding across the floor in what so far would be the typical style. But she knew it wouldn't stay that way. She grabbed his wrist and swung out, oh this was going to be fun. A moment later the smile dashed away in shock. A smooth voice over the speaker joined the eight-piece band.

“Who's that whisperin' in the trees?”

A collective gasp around the room carried over, but as Faye glanced at Spike he completely ignored it continuing to sing into the tiny microphone secured over his ear. That's what she'd seen! A performance mic, the wire must've gone to a battery pack in his pocket. In practice he hadn't been counting, he'd been mouthing the damn lyrics to set the timing.

  
“It's two sailors and they're on leave  
Pipes and chains and swingin' hands”

His voice … she'd never imagined for a second he could sing. No wonder he had called her out for being off-key on the ship. Spike swung her down into the deep dip and winked at her, tugging down on the fedora's rim with the next phrase.

  
“Who's your daddy? Yes I am!”

She wanted to punch him for this blatantly secret plan, and yet, as he spun her back up she couldn't help but glimpse the shocked faces all around. They thought they'd seen something? Nothing yet!

“Fat cat came to play, now you can't run fast enough”

He grabbed her wrists and she prepared. In a swift reversal he slid her beneath his legs for the momentum and threw her airborne. She flew into the air to the lyrics, shifting her core and limbs to propel her higher into the air.

  
“You'd best stay away when the pushers come to shove”

She tucked in as gravity seized her, falling toward the polished wood. Faye couldn't look, she shut her eyes and whispered to herself. _Trust him, he'll be there._ Time took too long to pass as she plummeted. A soft embrace, she landed across his arms. The one beneath her legs bounced her up and dropped her around into a tight wrap over his shoulders. She landed on the floor and shoulder vaulted him to the chorus.

“Zoot Suit Riot”

Spike pointed at the band and those who weren't on horns shouted back, “Riot!” He threw his head back and smiled into the lyrics. Meanwhile they danced in tandem, tapping and shuffling their feet in time. They never stopped moving.  
  


“Throw back a bottle of beer  
Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!” The band belted back.

  
“A-pull a comb through your coal-black hair

Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”  
  


“Throw back a bottle of beer  
Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”

  
“A-pull a comb through your coal-black hair

Blow Daddy!”

Faye grabbed onto Spike's wrist and as he bent over she rolled across his shoulders, throwing herself into it. The judges weren't writing anything that she could see, they were staring at the spectacle before them.

“A whipped-up jitterbuggin' brown-eyed man  
Stray cat frontin' out an eight-piece band  
Cut me Sammy and you'll understand”

Truly into it, Spike slid down on his knees, hands in fists to his chest like he was begging.  
  


“In my veins hot music ran!”

He came back up and locked eyes with Faye. Snapping his fingers as he stalked toward her.

“You got me in a sway, and I want to swing you dove”

She closed the distance in a swift run and grasped his wrists. Up she went, feet into the air, stalling at the perfect moment straight vertical. Eyes locked, Faye grinned as Spike belted out the next line before dropping her off to the left and swinging her like a jump rope.  
  


“Now you sailors know where your women come for love!”

Swinging all around the dance floor, Faye lost herself in the exchange from Spike to the band and back again. This wasn't the type of dance she'd been taught by her dance tutor. This round went to the wild side.

“Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”

  
“Throw back a bottle of beer  
Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”

  
“A-pull a comb through your coal-black hair

You're in a Zoot Suit Riot!”

Spike pulled off the fedora and held it up, framed by the spot light as Faye slid across the floor by her own momentum. He put the hat back on, and in the same motion caught her wrist and brought her back to her feet.

  
“You're in a Zoot Suit Riot!  
You're in a Zoot Suit Riot!”

They swayed together, forehead to sweat-caked forehead, chest to chest. Father might have been mortified to see such a scandalous posture as Faye cupped the back of his neck smiling coyly.

“You got me in a sway, and I want to swing you dove”  
  


He dipped her low and ran his hand up the outside of her leg, disrupting her skirt. She shivered at the touch, but reined in the sensation. This was a dance move, practiced. He meant nothing more than style points. No more than this next little number meant. Coming upright she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist and flung herself backward as he spun. He secured her arm and she released her legs, spiraling outward in a vertical top spin until he brought her to her feet again.

“Now you sailors know where your women come for love”

Taking to the rhythm, Faye and Spike traded swinging one another across the floor. No one else had done that trick. Not many had tried half what they had.

“Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!  
  


“Throw back a bottle of beer  
Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”  
  


“A-pull a comb through your coal-black hair

Zoot Suit Riot

“Riot!”  
  


“Throw back a bottle of beer  
Zoot Suit Riot”

“Riot!”  
  


“A-pull a comb through your coal-black hair

You're in a Zoot Suit Riot  
You're in a Zoot Suit Riot  
You're in a Zoot Suit Riot”

As the beat wore down, they released their grip in mid spin. Spike slid across the floor on his knees, skidding sideways until he lost momentum and flopped onto his back, arms outstretched. The fedora flung up into the air. Faye closed the distance and struck a pose, fingers like a gun. She aimed them at him and pulled the trigger just as the fedora fell over his face.

Chest heaving, Spike lay there in the silence. Faye huffed each breath, smiling at this little heist. A lack of immediate applause meant one helluva performance. The Espositos always received that response. This is what they'd aimed for.

Applause eventually broke out!

“_Wow! Ok, folks, let's hear it for the band … and uhh … that unusual performance.”_

“_The next team better watch it, that floor is on fire now.”_

Slowly, Spike reached up and plucked the hat from his face. He clicked the microphone off before sitting up. Taking Faye's offered hand he used it to lever to his feet, holding the hat to his chest. He leaned close to her. “So, am I dead yet?”

“You will be if that little secret cost us the contest! What about the rules?”

He turned and waved to the audience. “Relax, Fernando and I poured through them to make sure singing wasn't against the rules. We'll know soon enough what the judges thought of that little stunt. For now, shit, I could really use a beer!”

She tugged on his arm. “I'll break the bottle over your head if you are wrong.”

He tugged the fedora back on. “Better keep this on, then.”

*

The dance hall wasn't quite empty. Though most had left, the eight-piece band kept the stage warm surrounded be a handful of dancers. Spike sat on the edge of the stage, one leg hanging off the edge with his eyes close, wailing out the fast-paced lyrics as the trumpet belted out the harmony.

“She's got me in her sights tonight

The barrel's loaded, trigger finger tight

If I'm not careful it'll be the grave

Beneath the pale moonlight

The rain is falling no doubt its beat

And in its rhythm I feel complete

But there's still something got me questioning

If you know what I mean!

She's my shot gun girl

A riot on my tail

I'll never live to see the dawn

My trigger happy gal!

If you ask me in my dying breath

When fate casts the roll of death

I'd tell you I'd gone down content

She's got me right between the eyes!”

Drowned in the music, Spike swayed to the rhythm gladly surrendering to the back-room ditty most bands didn't know. This fast-paced piece had been one of the Skeleton Key's staples, and though he hadn't performed it, he'd still quietly sung along. A cold beer in his hands, he could have been back there now instead of space bound in a swanky cruise ship.

The trumpet player leaned back and blasted the final chord. Spike lifted his beer mug in a toast. “Man, you can play, Tony. You guys really bring me back.”

Tony gave him a hi-five. “You jokin'? When you came up right before and told us the gig I laughed, we all thought it was nothing but a punk scheme by some rich-ass fucker. Never had something like that happen before. And damn that worked. Hey, after hours, you know we'd love to jam.”

Spike glanced out at the empty tables. Faye had been lingering on the edges for a while savoring their victory. They'd nailed first place in the round with such a huge lead that their collective score now had them in a solid second and an ample threat to the now severely disgruntled Espositos, who'd only had a lackluster score this round. Everyone who had seen them before confirmed, their routine had not changed one bit. Even Spike had savored the glint of anger in the couple as they argued with the judges about the legality of adding vocals to a performance. Spike and Faye said nothing, they just stood by the table and waited. No deliberation. No wavering, the ranking stood and the Espositios were warned about sportsmanship. By now Faye had left in the company of several couples, long ago forgiving Spike for keeping his secret. He'd been forced to confess that he was certain she would have told him no. He'd been right.

Spike finished his beer and shook his head. “Eh well, I better be heading back.” This round took place in the morning into the afternoon, it should have concluded hours ago, but the jam session never seemed to stop. “You know, we do have a couple more rounds to prep for.”

Maria Lansing leaned on the edge of the stage. “Jim's glad we didn't have to go against you two. I remember swing dancing was mentioned, but I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “Just a bit of my rebellious side.”

A slight blush bloomed on her cheeks. “Well, turns out you and I have something in common. I'm also a singer. Have you heard of Morella?”

Spike leaned forward. “Wait … you're **her**?” As she confirmed it, he shook his head. “Damn, I've heard a few of your pieces on the radio.” She had a solid mid-range, a touch husky toward the lower range, but it lent her voice body. She was indeed talented. “Who would have thought … ”

She flashed him a grin. “Likewise.”

Spike's phone rang, he picked it up to Faye. _“Darling, are you done playing around?”_

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah yeah yeah, I was just having a bit of fun shooting the shit with the band. I'll be there in a few. Alright?”

She hung up and he turned to the others. “Sorry, gotta run.” Despite the fact that they kept playing, he waved and padded into the corridors, heading through the winding decks toward their room.

He hadn't seen anyone for a few minutes when a hand grabbed his shoulder. A cold voice rasped in his ear. “I know who you **really** are, Spiegel.”

Spike turned slowly, wide-eyed.


	20. Session 20

_ **Session 20** _

Somewhere in the back of his memory Spike knew that voice. Hearing, before seeing the source, brought it back to him. The hours spent listening to the man drone in a seemingly endless conversation with Mao in the backroom of a casino. All Spike had wanted to do was hit the gambling floor, but duty, and this time-wasting bastard, had forbade him. On that long ago day he'd been forced to stand behind Mao, shoulder to shoulder with Vicious, for the whole painstaking flop of a deal.

The moment Spike turned and locked eyes with him in the dim hallway, he knew he'd IDed the egotistical asshole. Gunter Keller. There he stood, dressed in a finely tailored suit that marked him as old money elite. The signet ring on his finger, an age old symbol of his family's power on display. A man convinced he was untouchable. Spike cursed himself for overlooking the name on the initial list. Still, Gunter wasn't into hacking. When they'd crossed paths ages ago he'd been a shyster of an arms dealer, that was what his family managed beneath their high-society front.

Gunter adjusted his tie with a self-satisfied smile. “I really should have noticed earlier, but it's been awhile, over a decade actually. I'd heard all the Red Dragons had been slaughtered, their reign ended in a blaze from hell itself, so why I even expect to see you alive? And truly, the day I saw you I spent most of my time trying to negotiate with Mao Yenrai. But I couldn't help glancing up his bodyguards. A high ranking capo such as he watched over by a pair of snot-nosed brats. Something didn't add up.”

This was _not_ good. Gunter had him dead to rights. He kept his mouth shut. All it would take was a few words to the right people and Spike's cover would be blown. The rules of the contest were clear—couples must be legitimately married, no aliases were to be used. Two marks that would disqualify them. Not to mention Spike's past involvement with the syndicate was not something he relished getting exposed. That could make things … uncomfortable, to say the least. Could even result in an unfortunate visit from the ISSP.

Gunter laughed coldly. “That of course meant that later that night when my own bodyguards didn't return I had to investigate. And I think you know what I found. Don't you, Spike Spiegel.”

Oh, Spike remembered. The meeting had been boring as hell, just another blowhard trying to screw over Mao. What followed had made it worth the trip. Even Vicious had remarked. It wasn't everyday that goons fucked up that badly, nor Mao in that foul of a humor. He'd let Spike and Vicious exercise their imaginations on the party crashers. Spike did not envy the clean-up in that backroom considering the condition they'd left it in! The only thing to identify the men by, their cuff links. He kept his gaze steady on Gunter. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Looking this close now I'd know those eyes anywhere, you lying shit. You're the prick who drilled my best bodyguard. And I know it was you. Your blade-wielding partner butchered my other guy. You were the one with the gun.”

“Best? That witless bag of pulp was your best?”

Gunter pointed, his smile twisted into a victorious sneer. “There it is! I knew it.”

Too late Spike realized he'd said that aloud. His hand inched behind his back, fingers brushing the hilt of the small throwing knife. “Tch. Well, if you'd wanted them back with pulses you shouldn't've sent them after Mao.” Somehow he had to get out of this. Slaughtering Gunter wouldn't work. A body would be inconvenient. No, this would require a _gentlemen's_ bargain. He had to remember the rest of the night … what the heck were the details of the rest of it?

Gunter continued to drone on, “Mao was the issue. It's not my fault the negotiations soured.”

“Not my problem. My task was to make sure my own boss walked away from that table. You're just lucky Mao decided to make you a pigeon.”

He stiffened. “Is that what he said? I am no messenger! None of that matters now, I have need to recruit. You will serve as my bodyguard—or else.”

“Serve you? Not gonna happen, pal. You have no idea how close you came to decorating the wall after the stunt you pulled.” A cruel smile began to grow, the details coming back. “Your lackys weren't even cold yet when Mao sent me to locate you just to make sure you weren't stupid enough to send them as decoys. I found you, alright. Kept track of you for the rest of the night with only Mao's order stopping me from ending you. The thing with that particular casino is the walls aren't very soundproof.”

Gunter cocked his head, eyebrow raising a touch as Spike studied the man's time-worn wedding band. Years of wear. Time to throw the dice on a gamble.

“How many years have you been married to Sarah now?”

Panic began to register in Gunter's eyes. But it was vague. A man trying not to reveal anything his opponent might not already know.

Nailed it. Spike's turn to have him dead to rights. He took the time to tuck his hands in his pockets, letting Gunter stew. “That night you weren't with your wife Sarah. That wasn't her voice in your hotel room howling like a cat in heat. Would be a shame if she found about Mimi. After all, _she_ was a syndicate favorite. Rumor had it she didn't just dance around the stage pole for a living.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don't know anything.”

“Well, I never had the opportunity to confirm those rumors for myself. Nights with her were a capo level exclusive. You're right, I didn't actually _see _her in your room, I just _heard_ her distinctive … uhh … chorus.” Spike's wicked grin twisted. “However, Mimi wasn't your arm candy at the table.” He crossed his arms. “That one was Jezebel. A girl with a real slick poker face. By the way, did you think she actually had feelings for you? I lost a good deal of woolongs to her when Mao let me off duty for a few card games. She's still a good friend of mine, and Mimi's. She's been making rounds in a casino on Ganymede. Think I should give her a call and we can have a little reunion. Bet Sarah would love to met them both and compare notes.” It was one helluva bluff. Those connections had been severed along with his initial _death_ from the Red Dragons. But Spike bet that Gunter couldn't have been certain of that.

Gunter's throat closed off any reply as he shifted backward.

“Does Sarah even know what you _really _do for a living?”

The tight swallow proved it. Spike had rattled the cage the man didn't even know he was in. A bitter secret he had kept from the woman he loved, concealed beneath a veneer of privileged innocence, he used that term loosely.

Backing Gunter up, Spike planted his palm against the wall and leaned into him, so close he could see every rapid beat of the man's heart in his eyes. “A man trying to pretend to be clean cut shouldn't try to dig up dirt on another who knows the truth. Do you catch my drift?”

A bead of sweat dripped from Gunter's forehead.

“Here's the deal. You keep your mouth shut about who I was, and I won't share your details with your wife.” He held out his right hand. “Deal?”

Gunter stared for a moment before taking the hand, palm glistening in sweat, he shook hastily. “Deal! Deal!”

Releasing the hand, Spike remained leaning over him, staring. “That's the thing about most of you big-shots, you forget why bodyguards were needed for your fat asses. You sit at your tables talking smack all while guys like me listen, tracking every move, every word. You forget that what made you powerful were the thugs who kept you breathing. Just one word in the right ear and that happy world you've cultivated on blood money can go down like a bad poker hand. The only thing stopping me from killing you before was Mao. In case you haven't noticed, he's not around to give any orders.” He slammed his hand against the wall and growled, “Don't piss me off!”

Gunter slid down the wall, slack-jawed, staring up at Spike with all his bluster gone.

Spike pushed off the wall and strode down the hall, keeping an air of confidence until he rounded the corner. The second he was out of sight, panic seized him and he ran the rest of the way to the room. The suite door couldn't open fast enough. Secured inside he still didn't feel safe.

His finger clawed the knot of his loose tie down, but it didn't ease that suffocating feeling. It felt so damn similar to another day … the graveyard in Tharsis flashed before him. Where he had fled in a blind panic after that fateful meeting in the tower, after Vicious tricked him into publicly disgracing himself before the Van. The same hopelessness filled him. Nowhere to run. His world crashing around him. But that wasn't the worst of it. Inside he felt that same hollowness threatening to envelope him once more. The same bloodthirsty beast he had once been in service to the Dragon. No—in _sacrifice_ to the Dragon.

He panted, how could he have been so damn foolish? He'd said it himself early on. The people in this circle tended to have a lot to hide in the methodology of how they gained their money and kept their status. These were the people who dealt with and were even secretly in the syndicates. The true power behind the wheels of society. The odds always were high that someone here would have been on the other side of Mao's table and lived to tell about it.

He palmed his face, cursing. What if there was someone else? Another who didn't try to extort him … who just went to the proper channel and revealed his roots? Why did it seem like every time he tried to recapture something precious in his past the venomous bite always followed?

_Get a hold of yourself!_ He gritted his teeth and registered the cold weight of a whiskey bottle in his hand, when had he grabbed it? He didn't even remember that. Taking a good swig, the liquid burned his throat, the sensation chipping away at the numbness even as he paced the room. Pain, discomfort, the old trick of an anchor informing him he was still alive.

The bathroom door opened to a puff of steam. Wrapped in a robe, Faye smiled when she saw him … then stopped short and blinked. “Spike? What the hell is wrong? You look … haunted.”

He took another deep swallow, his grip on the bottle neck tightened. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop pacing. “Shit, I shoulda known. I shoulda known!”

Faye attempted to stop his course, but he shrugged out of her failed effort. “Tell me, what's wrong?”

“Why the fuck does my past always try to drag me back? A guy I ran into from the old days tried to extort me in the hall.”

She held her breath, glancing pointedly down at Spike's knuckles. “You didn't … ”

He didn't mean to yell, but he couldn't stop himself. “Of course I didn't! I'm not that stupid!” Taking a moment, he shut his eyes and wrangled in the welling panic. “Fortunately, I had enough dirt on the asshole that he'll probably think twice about every decision he's made for the past decade. But it doesn't matter. I should have thought about being recognized!”

“Spike, take it easy. If you silenced him, you're ok.”

No, she didn't get it. How close everything was to being ruined. It wasn't just the contest, Spike realized with a white hot poker of panic—the thought of being controlled again, shackled by the empty bluster of power, nothing more than a beast set to murder on demand. No—never again!

“I won't go back to being a hollow wretch again!” With a roar, he threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered with a loud crash. Spike blindly fell to his knees. “I never should have tried to do this! I don't belong here! I'll never be one them! I never wanted it … even when Mao did!”

A gentle touch on his shoulder. Faye cautiously knelt down beside him.

A frantic knock on the door whipped her head up. She clamped a hand over Spike's mouth, he couldn't blame her for that move, even he didn't know what he'd blurt out right now. A voice broke through, Jim Lansing, “Hey. You ok? We heard a crash all the way from our room.”

Faye stared at the locked door. “Yeah. Damn it all! Just tripped while celebrating, dropped the bottle of champagne. Don't open the door, there's glass everywhere. Guess we might have had a little too much. We're okay.”

On the other side of the door, Jim laughed. “Well, you got enough to celebrate, alright! Not everyday that someone beats the Espositos at their own game. Congratulations!” His footsteps carried down the hall.

Faye released her hand over Spike's mouth. His weight shifted back and he leaned against the bed and stared at the ceiling, still breathing hard. She sat next him, droplets of water from her hair soaking through his jacket. Cold on his skin, another sensation to batter the threatening numbness. “Spike, are you alright now?”

He blinked slowly. “That asshole nearly had me. If I hadn't remembered he'd been married to Sarah that long ago … that back then his sleazy one-night stand meant something more, he'd have had the power to leash me again. Drag me back into the blood bath all over again. Back into what I used to be.”

“Ooookaaaaay,” she replied slowly.

“Faye, you don't get it, guys like this—”

“Are the same shallow jerks we've been collaring. They're just lowlife scumbags with titles.”

Spike shifted and met her gaze. “Titles have money and power. Men like Gunter are the ones who design how the system works. I've been inside it, seen how the strings are pulled. Gunter belonged to a different syndicate, but he was just as powerful as Mao.”

“And just as vulnerable.” Faye took his hand. “Remember, I sat next to a corpse. With what you did to the Red Dragons why does this guy even affect you?”

“Because he reminded me,” he stared at her hand wrapped around his, an anchor in the storm, “secrets are the currency of loyalty. Men who desire their secrets remain concealed tend to be volatile creatures.”

For a long moment she was silent, her eyes narrowed in concern. “You're not talking about him … are you.”

He lowered his head.

“Oh, Spike.” Faye reached up and brushed his cheek. “If you let that asshole's threat rattle you you'll just be paranoid for no reason.”

“You don't really know the truth … ”

“I know who you are now, and that's enough. Come on. We've had a long day. We better get some rest. Things will be better in the morning.”

Spike glanced at the shattered bottle. At a sign that for a moment he'd lost the reins on his temper. A hollow pit in his stomach teased him, a shiver ran down his spine … a deep well of fear rippled—to be forged once again in the fires that re-created him in the past. Vicious. Why did his smiling face haunt him now? Years ago he'd missed the viper sidled up beside him in the dark, waiting … bidding his time. What was Spike missing?

*

The buzzing of a cell phone invaded Faye's slumber. The bed shifted beside her, followed by the buzz rapidly drifting further away, and a pronounced thump. She sat up in time to see Spike's arm coming back to rest over the covers. The offending sound box now across the room. Oddly, he was still sound asleep as the thing ceased its squawking. She had a vague suspicion this was something he had done before.

As she went to lie back down her own piped up. She reached onto the nightstand and picked it up, answering the call IDed as from Tomato.

Ed's overly bright face filled the screen. At full volume she squealed, _“Hi, Faye-Faye!”_

Swiftly, she covered the speaker, eyeing Spike. Head rammed into the pillow, he hadn't so much as stirred. Turning back to the screen she cracked a grin. “Uh Ed, you do know it's the middle of the night.”

“_Yes yes. Edward knows. Jet is sleeping.”_ She rocked back and forth. _“Ed was going to wait until the morning to say how amazing that last dance was. Ed wants a turn to fly like Faye-Faye! Weeeeeeee! And Mister Spike-person can sing. Jet was surprised, you should have seen his face. It was … ”_ She did a perfect imitation of the gold fish if it could point. _“Ed almost had to pound on his chest he took so long to respond.”_

Faye held her finger up. “Shhh, Ed.”

She stopped and blinked. _“Why didn't Spike answer his phone when Ed called?”_

“Because it's halfway across the room.”

“_Why?”_

“That's where he threw it because he's trying to get some sleep. Sooo, why don't you tell me why you called in the middle of the night, alright?”

“_Oh yeah, sure. Cause Ed cracked a transmission.”_ She said it so matter-of-factly, like she was calling the Earth's sky blue or something else rather trivial.

Faye sat up, her hand straying to the side, inches from waking Spike. Wait, this was Ed, it could be nothing after all. Better to hear it herself first. “Okay, so?”

For a long moment Ed stared back at her._ “Oh, you want to know?”_

She ground her teeth and smiled. “Yes, that would be helpful.”

“_Late night transmission with lotsa codes layered over it again, and again, and again. Ed cracked it like pepper.”_ She leaned closer to the screen, squinting as she rocked back and forth. _“__**Chicken soup in the crock pot. Stock out. Delivery unaltered.**__”_

Faye wrinkled her brow. “Chicken soup? What the heck? Ed, that doesn't even make sense.”

Ed shrugged. _“There was a reply too. It was, __**You should have waited for the biscuits.**__”_

“That makes even less sense!” For the briefest moment she considered waking Spike up, maybe there was some standard covert code that would make heads or tails of chicken soup and biscuits. Burrowed in as he was she hated to. It had taken a long shower and over an hour for him to relax enough to shut his eyes the first time. Bringing up old codes right now might make it worse. “Thanks for the information, Ed. I'll tell Spike when he wakes up and we'll see what we can figure out. For now, keep monitoring things like you have been. I need to get some sleep. We have a serious rehearsal tomorrow morning.”

“_Dance pretty, Faye-Faye.”_ Ed practically shouted, _“Good night!”_

She cringed and cut the call, Spike hadn't so much as stirred. The silence was deafening as she set the phone back on the stand. Chicken soup? Biscuits? What the heck was that about? Some sort of potluck?


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

Still slightly bleary-eyed, Spike reached for the door. Their rehearsal time was early today, and as little as he knew about the paso doble dance it was going to be a challenging one to pull off. Something about mimicking bull-fighting, an archaic Earth blood sport. He knew what a bull was, having seen the ornery beasts on a farm before. He couldn't imagine anyone being foolish enough to try and purposefully fight one with nothing more than a tablecloth between them and the horns. Seriously, if that served as entertainment, how did Earthlings manage to survive long enough to make it to space? It of course dawned on him that all of humanity really came from Earth, regardless of where they were born now-a-days. But still, considering some of the stupid shit they were known to do before the gate collapse made the surface inhospitable it seemed improbable the same minds could achieve such a feat. … until he considered the behavior of the bulk of the morons on the bounty list. Had humanity really come all that far after all?

Faye's hand on the door paused him. She locked concerned eyes with him. “Are you ok?”

He turned the reach into a stretch, a few joints crackling. “Eh, I'll loosen up once we get started.”

“That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. Yesterday. How you came back here. Worried about being exposed. I need to know, are you going to be alright?”

Spike heaved a sigh and shrugged. “Come on, or we'll be late.”

Out in the hall they walked side by side, a tension between them. Not like before when she'd wanted to kill him, now it was all in questions that she wouldn't ask in public. Spike shoved his hands in his pockets, closed off from her passive stare. He would be fine, he tried to convince himself. Surely he had done enough the other day to secure silence.

A man walked around the corner preoccupied by his phone. He glanced up inches from colliding with Spike, who came to a preventative stop. Spike stared down into Gunter Keller's eyes as the man turned white and stumbled backward, tripping over his feet and hitting the wall with the back of his head. He scrambled to get his feet underneath him. The second he did, Gunter took a headlong flight down the corridor with Spike wordlessly watching him flee.

Faye blinked and pointed, “Let me guess, that was the guy.”

Spike nodded, and released the tension he hadn't even known he'd been holding as he chuckled. “Yup. Kinda looks like I'll be alright.” He pressed the elevator button, letting an amused smile cross his face as he savored the terrorized jerk's expression.

They arrived at the practice room to find Fernando and Cygne in the midst of dancing a tight pattern. The two smiled as Fernando brought Cygne around him as if throwing a jacket around his shoulders. That was the closest analogy that Spike could think of. The two looked so intent in the pattern that he didn't think they'd noticed they were no longer alone.

That was until Fernando, still engaged in the tight dance, spoke without looking at them. “The Paso Doble, otherwise known as the bullfighter dance. The man is the fighter, and the woman is his cape. This dance portrays a narrative all about intensity, team work, precision. For if the man falters, his protection is lost and he will have nothing with which to defeat the enemy.”

Spike scratched the back of his neck as the image of a red cloth being draped over a bull's face ran through his mind. All that resulted in was a seriously miffed animal. How could that possibly work? He shrugged and chalked it up to his earlier train of thought. There was no way, unless he'd been forced to, that he would ever try something so foolish with a real bull.

“The steps of the dance itself are not so complex. The difficulty comes from keeping the flavor of a fight.”

Faye crossed her arms. “We have enough experience in that regard.”

“I can piss her off again if that would help.” Spike winked.

She offered him a glare.

He lifted a shoulder. “What?”

Fernando and Cygne turned in tandem and stared at the two. “Please don't. Remember in this dance you are allies against an invisible foe. You can't embody that imagery if you do not trust one another.”

Faye reached out and took Spike's hand. “After that last round … I think the trust is obvious.”

Cygne approached them and placed her hand over theirs. “I would agree. Your latest brought your cumulative into threat zone with the Espositos, they are well aware of this. That means they are rattled. If they push too hard, they're likely to make a mistake. So let's get you two a solid routine.”

Turning her gaze up at Spike, Faye offered him a sly grin. “You say you don't belong here. I say that's bullshit. Let's show these snobs how this is done.”

Fernando tossed a cape into Spike's hand. He wielded one himself flinging it around his shoulders with flare. “First things first, while Faye works with Cygne, you copy what I do. You need to get a feel for swinging an actual cape.”

The fabric was light in his hand as Spike turned it around and around, striking odd dramatic poses. They felt stiff and awkward. Not actual fighting, but a representation of it. Still, he settled into the postures along with all their flare. The core of this resembled some of the non-combat flow patterns he'd been taught by his sensei. But instead of being smooth and fluid, it was staccato and stiff. That rigidity would be something he'd be fighting to capture. That just wasn't his style.

“Focus, Spike.” Fernando jabbed a hand forward and struck Spike's hip. “If I were a bull you would be gored. The hips should be shifted forward, out of the way.”

Spike exhaled a slow breath. “I'll be honest, if you were a bull I wouldn't be standing here in the first place.”

From across the room Faye chuckled. “So says the genius who stared down a robotic allosaur as it charged him.”

He glared over his shoulder. “We were already targets, I just demanded its attention.”

“By yelling at it.” She put a hand on her hip.

“Not like I was going swish a cape at the damn thing.” He flicked the fabric like Fernando had shown him. “Besides, the plan worked. Nothing short of a collapsing building was going to take that brute down.”

“Sure,_ that _was a plan.” She air quoted the final word. “Honestly, just admit it, you'd lost your temper. If the thing wouldn't have been a skyscraper with legs, you would have found a way to hit yourself.”

“Geh!” He stiffened for a moment before he folded his arms across his chest. “Would you have rather we sat down and discussed how to take care of that massive shredding machine as it charged? I'm sure it would have waited to try and kill us until we finished a brainstorming session. I could have just sat back and let it have the lot of you. But frankly, the main plan was we'd _all_ make it back to the ship, so somebody had to do something.”

Fernando and Cygne eyed one another. Cygne raised an eyebrow at Faye. “When you told me you were bounty hunters I had no idea it entailed … uhh … ”

Faye flicked a dismissive hand. “Usually it doesn't. We ran into some rather bad luck on that run.”

“Not as bad as our mark did.” Spike shook his head. “Or rather, what was left of him by the time we found him.”

“He picked an unfortunate place to try and hide from us.”

Spike cleared his throat. “Something else found him first. At least if it would have been us he would have had a pulse.”

Faye smirked. “Well, that depends.”

“Hey.”

Fernando waved his cape between them. “Alright you two, before this sidetracks us, we have a routine to figure out.”

*

With the narrowing of the entrants in the final two rounds, the division in the dining room now showed all the more. A handful of tables near the windows featured the assigned seats of the twenty semi-finalist couples. The remainder of the hall had unassigned tables with the couples mingling in tight circles. Faye couldn't help but notice the shunning. No one on their side seemed to spare a glance for the other side of the room. The losing tables had subdivisions, the length of time a couple had remained in the contest evident by who they sat with.

No amount of style could cover the shallowness on display. And yet, in any other circumstance she would have been exploiting that very rift.

Tonight she couldn't help but feel the tension at their table. Why did they have to be seated with the Espositos? Carlos and Roberta stabbed at their salads, eyeing Spike and Faye down their noses. Not even making snide remarks, the champions actively ignored them. At least they had the Dunninghams as a distraction. Phillip and Eliza kept up a lively chatter concerning their plans for an asteroid resort. The other couple, Batu and Ima Ido didn't remark much. The tension increased in the void left when Eliza and Ima excused themselves to the restroom, lasting beyond when they returned just in time for the main course. Faye poked at the unappetizing delicacy, some strange dish made from whole Venus slugs. The fancy garnish did nothing to make it taste better. There was simply no escaping the knowledge of what was on the plate. The texture akin to eating rubber.

This dinner rivaled the disaster of their first aboard the _Golden Calf_, back when Spike had no clue about table manners, however this time it wasn't his fault. She glanced at him and had to at least admit he was playing the part well enough. Not that there was much conversation at the table. In general everyone seemed to want to keep their eyes on their plates, stealing glances between bites. Somehow Spike didn't make some wry remark about the garden-crawler that was their meal. She only knew his distaste by the way he poked at it on the plate. That was something she'd thought she'd never see. Spike reluctant to eat something.

Oddly enough, after forcing down the dish, Faye's stomach turned into tight heated knots. She stood up, “I'll be right back.”

Spike glanced up as she fled the table, almost a pleading expression in his eyes, but he stayed at the table.

In the restroom Faye fought down the nausea as the heat intensified and her gut threatened to let her see dinner again. Gasping for air she rested her head against the cool wall. Gourmet certainly didn't mean appetizing. There was no doubt that this was not a delicacy she'd be sampling again. No amount of garlic butter could make a slug not resemble a slug. All she had to do was somehow keep from puking.

On the marble floor the sparkle of a jewel encrusted hair comb caught her eyes. She reached down and picked it up. Simply gorgeous! Diamonds, sapphires, and amethysts sparkled arranged in clusters to form elegant flowers. With her hair color this comb would be simply breathtaking. It even matched the color scheme selected for the cabaret, their final round.

No one else was in the room. Tucking it into her clutch she walked to the mirror, feeling a bit better now that the nausea had passed. Perhaps dessert would be better, something not based on a garden pest?

Returning to the table she discovered, Spike leaning back smoking. He offered her a cigarette. As she took it, and glanced down for him to light it, she noted the jelly like blobs on the floor peering out from beneath the tablecloth. No wonder he wasn't looking sick. He'd avoided eating the little pests altogether. Faye flicked her eyes from the floor to met his. He only grinned.

Phillip folded his hands. “Well, tomorrow is the last chance we get to break into the final round. I trust everyone is ready?”

Roberta inclined her nose. “There is no reason for us to be concerned. We're already guaranteed a position in the final round.”

“How do you figure that?” Spike stared at the ceiling, even as Faye fought the urge to punch the arrogance out of the champion.

Carlos didn't look at Spike as he replied coldly, “It's all in the math. Even if we didn't show up, we're far enough ahead. There is no way we're not going to be in the finals.”

Spike replied blandly. “That makes two of us.”

When both Espositos flinched, Eliza chuckled into her hand. “You know, he's right. The only real competition is between the rest of us and who makes it in. That's quite a respectable margin.”

“Respect, hah!” Carlos snorted. “I swear they'll let anyone into this now.”

Phillip cocked his head. “That's not what you said—”

“Shut up!” He pounded a fist on the table. “We won this contest the moment we accepted the invitation to return!”

Faye cocked a grin and leaned forward. “Touchy. You'd almost think someone was worried.”

“I am not! We are champions!” The two stood and stormed out.

“Well,” Phillip shrugged, “that was quite the huff.”

“Some men can be such drama queens.” Faye took a deep drag of the cigarette. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Dr. Adenine conversing with security, his complexion quite ill. _Wait, was the food poisoned? No … can't be. More would be showing signs._

Adenine tugged his tie down with a finger, shifting his gaze around the room. Was he sweating? Yes. His skin glistened beneath the lights. He shook his fist, declaring something with no small amount of anxiety. Still, she couldn't hear what he was saying from this distance. The head of security shook his head in return. Adenine buried his face in his hands, nearly collapsing.

She narrowed her eyes. Wasn't he going to be leaving soon?


	22. Session 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The music selected for the paso doble is actually a rock song called Bring Me To Life by Evanescence. To my shock while I was researching, it HAS been used in real life as instruction and competition for the paso doble. I watched a couple routines and decided, why not—there could easily be an instrumental version by the 2070's. The song is gorgeous, and the lyrics are rather impacting considering Bebop's root themes. And I simply could not resist using music from one of my favorite mood music composers. So—Spike and Faye's routine is choreographed to it. Check it out, if by some chance you have not heard it yet, where have you been if you haven't? I have taken some liberty with the moves for this round. But Spike and Faye are already pushing the envelope anyway, so it just makes sense they'd continue their roguish approach. Enjoy …

_ **Session 22** _

Spike tugged at the gauzy black fabric of his sleeve. Too much fabric. Way too much fabric on this billowy thing. The ruffles spilling down his chest and ending the cuffs made it qualify as over the top. He felt like he should be in some archaic swashbuckling film with a flimsy little prick of a sword shoved into the obnoxiously wide red sash around his waist. Would that make him a space pirate? He couldn't imagine spending a day in such an outfit, let alone fighting a formidable target in this. Even the shoes were impractical, fitted with little metal bits that clicked when he walked. Fernando had mentioned those additions would make the stomp so critical to the paso doble more pronounced. Frankly, Spike was just annoyed by the incessant tapping. That, and he felt rather like a bird every time he moved his arms. Too much fabric. At least he had been able to persuade Faye to let him drop the hair goop and wear his hair natural. Well, brushed into some semblance of natural.

Beside him Faye was decked out in blood red, her full ruffled skirt embroidered with black roses. Tiny black rose buds sparkling with onyx decorated her hair. A necklace and earrings in blood red garnet finished it off. Her eyes sparkled with excitement beneath the smokey makeup.

Out on the floor the Dunninghams riveted everyone. A solid performance of stiff movements, snapped into precision. There was indeed a reason they were in the finals. They commanded attention as the woman cape protected her man fighter. Then again, everyone of these semi-finalist couples should be good. They'd earned the right to be here.

Spike glanced up at the board. Not much time for this one. They were the second couple to take the floor. Not that Spike was worried. He actually appreciated the narrative they'd worked out with Ferando and Cygne. Going with their style, they were set to deliver something a bit twisted from the typical. Before he knew it, the Dunninghams waved to the divided floor. Competitors had close tables while those who had left the contest remained further away, tucked in the shadows.

As usual the announcers piped up, Derrick began, _“I would have hated to have been that bull. Well done, Phillip and Eliza Dunningham. A perfect embodiment of teamwork.”_

“_Next we have a challenge to the orchestra, fortunately there are guitarists and drummers among them. I admit, the music selection for this team is unusual. However, after last round we shouldn't be surprised by the unconventional.”_

“_Let me guess, Veronica, its the Sterlings.”_

“_You guessed it. Usually the paso doble is performed to something with a Spanish flavor. However, they have chosen a full orchestra instrumental arrangement of a rock song called Bring Me To Life. This will be interesting.”_

“_Spike and Faye Sterling have certainly shaken things up and brought a real style we've never seen before. After all, since the Espositos won the contest years ago, another couple taking first in a round is rare. So, can the Sterlings grab the proverbial brass ring again?”_

“_Shall we see? This is Spike and Faye Sterling performing the bull fighter dance to Bring Me To Life.”_

Out on the darkened dance floor, the blinding spotlights fell on them. Spike struck the stiff posture, even though he felt rather like a flamboyant peacock. Fine, if he had to be like a friggin' stuck up bird, he'd be an aggressive one. He fixed his eyes out toward Faye standing across the floor drenched in the bright wash of light. Her arms at her sides, eyes level in a confident gaze. A ribbon loop attached to the right hem of her gown slipped over his middle finger. When she raised her arms, the top layer would lift. Focus was everything in this dance. They were in a microcosm. The rest of the world dissolved away.

The pensive notes of the piano haunted the air. Spike held the stiff posture, waiting for the audio mark, all the while the image of a raging bull stabbing the ground with its hoof superimposed itself in the room. No one could see this spectral bull, but Spike had found the threat useful. Just like the imaginary foes in his martial arts routines. Only when the threat seemed real would the fighting spirit manifest. And this bull proved to be a formidable threat. Its gleaming horns prepared to gore.

At the first deep drum beat, Spike's heel slammed to the floor and echoed in the hall. An invitation to the ethereal beast that in his mind's eye turned toward him. But the beast did not charge—yet. Spike raised an arm toward Faye, in time with the music she flowed toward him, resembling a wave of fabric encircling him in an ever tightening circle as the music built. At last her hand ran across his back, from one shoulder blade to the other. As her fingers traced his outstretched arm to the end, they grasped hands and he snapped her back into his arms.

Now he had his cape. He remained upright and brushed his hand against her cheek. Sweeping the hand through and out, her own followed and grasped his. They drove into the eight step combo. There was a name for it, but Spike didn't give a shit about all that. All that mattered was nailing the maneuver to the rhythm of the violins and the thrashing electric guitar.

At the end of it he kept his grip on both of her hands and swung Faye around off the side, brandishing her just like the practice cape.

_Ok bull, bring it on!_

From across the room the enraged beast threw its head in the air and tore across the floor. Lethal horns aimed straight for them. Spike felt the rhythm of the beast's hooves in the driving drumbeat. The heart beat of the threat in the violins shredding their strings in the frantic flight. At the last moment he swept Faye out of the way, the bull tore by his side as he executed an arrogant stomp on the floor.

However this would place the threat to his rear, not something he would permit. Faye kept her fingers entangled and spun him around. They stepped across the floor, separating into a side-by-side step pattern. Grace in their aggressive attacks to the movement. Once more Spike stared at the bull bearing down on them, tracking their motion at full speed. Drawn to the flick of Faye's red dress.

At the last moment as she crossed in front of him, he grasped her wrists and lifted her in a high sweep. A posture that required Faye to sustain her own arms straight out. Her bare upper arms hardly trembled as she huffed out her breaths in the effort not to sag into it. He swept her down and released her into a free spin. With one hand raised she spun, trading one foot for the other as she moved in a tight circle. Spike raised an arm and turned slowly in the center of it until Faye rolled back into his arms.

The moment she was there he dipped her backward in a full layout.

He almost hated Cygne for suggesting this next bit. But damn—he had to admit it looked amazing when in rehearsal they'd captured video of it. The trouble was the angle, bent over this lift was a bitch and a half. Faye's confident eyes bored into him as she braced for it. After all, nothing about this entire dance was passive for either of them.

He took a deep breath and shifted his arm further into an overlap beneath Faye. Without enough speed he would drop her. He waited for the surge in the music, taking a deep breath. Then, with all his strength he surged upright, pushing with one hand and pulling the other the opposite direction. The sudden torsion on her waist resulted in Faye launching straight up like a spinning missile. At the pinnacle she flung her arms wide carrying the outer skirt like wings.

Spike turned on the ball of his foot, gauging her path. This was the one launch he hadn't been able to aim with any reliability. Every time he had to adjust with as little outward sign as possible. As she came down she folded back in, falling into his hands facing outward. He exhaled, that little trick safely out of the way. She came down into a toe touch on the floor before he released her into a wrap around him. Graceful, forceful.

Dancing around them the bull followed Faye's flow. Never allowed to get close enough. Screaming it's frustration.

Oh, but that would not be a good enough show. Snapping into the eight step switch across the floor, Spike allowed a slight grin as he released one of Faye's hands. She spiraled down low, her back flattening out, not unlike a tabletop.

_Let's see another couple pull this one off. _ Spike kicked his leg up and swung it over her crouched form. His follow through was to come around again, plant his palms on the center of her back and in a twisting move cartwheel over her. Faye only slightly dipped from the pressure. The moment he cleared, she turned, reached up and grabbed his hand. He used the momentum to pull her upward, his other palm planted on her hip, he brought her over like the flash of a cape and guided her down to the floor in a spiral. They came together, forehead to forehead, now fighting for air from the exertion. 

This wasn't over. They snapped their eyes toward the imaginary bull.

In an authoritative challenge stance, Spike brought Faye slinking around him. The bull charged in a strike and Spike spun out of the way spiraling downward and breaking the stiff posture. He ended crouched down ankles crossed, facing the floor. Behind him he heard Faye approach with the stomp of her feet from behind. Her hands embraced his shoulders as she sank down laying over his back in a true representation of the cape, her arms encircled his neck, she gripped her own elbows. Her breath teased his ear, a sign she was prepared. Spike hoped he was. In rehearsal this little trick nearly took out his ankle the first time they'd tried it. But he checked himself to be certain the narrow stance would untangle properly this time. 

Slowly, accompanied by the lingering final chord, Spike rose to his feet taking Faye's draped body up with him. That narrow stance, with his feet crossed, resumed the tense threat of the bull fighter's spirit. Faye, peered around his neck as their defiant eyes locked on the judges table. Or where it would be beyond the blinding lights.

They both panted in the roar of applause that followed. Spike reached up and took Faye's hand, spinning her around beside him before they bowed together.

Spike whispered into Faye's ear, “That's how you flip off reigning champions.”

When they came back up, she placed a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. 

If the announcers said anything it wasn't audible in the commotion. Spike and Faye took their leave, striding past the Espositos table as the two got up for their dance. Faye offered a sly smile, “Break a leg. Literally.”

Back at the table, Spike leaned back in the chair still trying to catch his breath. Faye was no less breathy as she leaned forward. “That could not have gone better.”

Spike reached for his waiting martini and raised it in a toast to them. The next moment they heard an alarmed shriek and a thump.

In the middle of the floor, Roberta lay on her side rubbing her hip. Carlos took a shambling backward, his eyes darted around as the music drove onward.

“Heh,” Spike swirled his drink, “look who got a bit rattled.”

Faye rose her glass. “I take that back. It just got better.”

*

Back in their room following dinner, Spike sat smoking out in the enclosed patio watching the stars zip by. He still had the white tux on, but his bow tie hung down undone, the top two buttons of his shirt popped.

Faye joined him seated at the table, lighting her own cigarette as she kicked off her high heels. “So sad that someone was missing at dinner. Poor Espositos must have lost their appetites.”

Spike spoke around his cigarette, eyes half lidded. “At least dinner was edible tonight and not some kind of garden pest. Say, I wonder if Carlos is still breathing? Roberta looked pretty pissed. How many times did she hit him?”

Laughing, she closed her eyes trying to count from memory. “At least a dozen. And those weren't light taps.”

“Nope. She meant business. Two days from now wonder how they'll be doing in the final round.”

“Well, they were so confident of making it. Maybe they should have just not shown up.”

“Pricks like that? Nah. They'd never do that.” Spike stretched and rubbed his shoulder. “I doubt Carlos imagined that would happen.”

“Did you catch the video?”

He nodded. “All the more reason I think the guy might be murdered before breakfast. He tried to turn a straight lift into our missile throw. You can tell that wasn't part of their routine, didn't look practiced at all. Wonder if he asked her?”

Faye smirked. “Did you see her face? No. He clearly didn't. And that landing. Ouch!”

“Bet someone got locked out of the room for the night. Hope Carlos has a nice trainer to crash with.”

“Word is they don't.”

“What? A nice trainer?”

Faye shrugged. “A trainer period.”

He shut his eyes and leaned back, smiling. “Tough luck for Carlos. So, two days from now is the last dance.”

“The cabaret. One of the most challenging styles out there.”

He cracked an eye open and stared at her. “More than today's routine?” When she nodded he simply smiled broader. “Find that hard to believe. I stood up to a charging bull with nothing but a cape today.”

She glared, one eyebrow twitching.

Spike cradled his head in his hands and lay back in the chair. “One really kick ass cape.”


	23. Session 23

_ **Session 23** _

The rattle of a can down the street caught Spike's attention. He wrinkled his nose at the odor of piss mixed with stale beer. His perspective was off, too short. A quick glance down at his feet and he blinked, wriggling his toes against the canvas sneakers. Denim jeans, a gray long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up, an open black vest.

_What the hell …?_ he hadn't dressed like this since …

A blues harp snapped his head up, the sweet sound coming from the alley accompanied by rhythm on a bucket drum. His feet moved on their own, pulled toward it. _Just like that distant day, shit this has to be a dream._

Seated on a stoop, a teenager a few years older then he had been, reclined with a fedora cocked on his frizzy hair. Spike knew him in this moment, but back then … back on that day in the streets of Tharsis this was the first they had met. Dizzy, the jazz cat. Poorer than the dirt they sat in, beside him his younger brother pounded on a plastic bucket with a pair of taped up drum sticks, changing the tone by lifting one side with his foot.

Dizzy turned and looked up, a crooked smile on his face as he stopped playing. “Heh, looky we got here, bro. This here be an alley cat.”

Spike took a step back as he'd been noticed. “Who me?” _Was my voice ever that high?_

“You see anybody else?”

“I'm not a cat.” He blushed a bit. “Just heard the music … and it sounded cool, s'all.”

Dizzy threw his head back and laughed. “Boy, you an alley cat if I ever seen one. A stray, all right.”

Spike folded his arms across his chest. “Stray? Not hardly. I'm here on a job.” Too late he realized he shouldn't have said anything. He glanced over his shoulder wondering where Masanori was. No one was supposed to know what he was up to.

Yes … this memory, it was the day that a Red Dragon had come to Mao's dojo to borrow a _street runner._ Spike had been selected from the boys. The first day since he'd started training he'd been allowed out. He was supposed to be keeping his eyes peeled for the target. But damn, that music. It called to his very soul. Even now he wanted to linger in the balm. To lean on that wrought iron railing forever, rewinding the jam session again and again. Relive the moment of his first taste.

The scent of smoke filled the air. The city scape changed. Spike blinked and stared down the alley at the burnt out husk of the jazz hall. The Skeleton Key …_ no!_

He shut his eyes tight against it. _No! Not that memory. _Gritting his teeth he willed it backward in time to something better …

… The impact of his palm against Dizzy's in a high-five ended in an embrace. The day they reunited in a back alley. Days after Spike had entered the ranks of the Red Dragons. Just a young punk with a gun shoved in his waistband. But loose on the streets, his time became his own.

_Yes, … here. Stay here._ He clung to the memory. Sitting on the bottom step, hands in his jacket pockets staring up at the sky through half closed eyes as Dizzy and his alley cats wailed out the blues. The trumpet and the sax echoed through the corridors of the city until the dawn lightened the sky. For that night Spike soared in the current of the music, ignorant of the price he would pay for pulling the trigger days before for that first time. Only looking back now did he realize … that night death had no reference point for him.

Not like now …

Opening his eyes, Spike heaved a sigh. He stared at the ceiling instead of a star strewn sky. How far he had come from those distant days. Still, he had to smile whenever he thought of Dizzy. One of the few fond memories, a rare friendship not bathed in blood. The nights spent lingering in the music were always the best, a break from his usual duties. He truly missed that.

Sitting up, he stretched, eyeing the liquor cabinet. Something else he was missing. Served him right for smashing the whiskey bottle. Well, he could always nip down to the actual bar. Sliding out of bed, he blinked to find Faye seated on the couch going through music.

She glanced up and pulled the headphones down. “Oh, I was just thinking about the music for the next round. I didn't wake you, did I?”

Spike stretched out the kinks from the day before. Nothing major, just a few minor stitches to be expected from using old muscles in new ways. “Nah, woke up on my own. Thought you'd picked the whole list ahead of time. What changed your mind?”

“I did have it all selected. But you know, as we've gotten further into this and changed other selections, it got me thinking. Maybe there's something better, more suited.” She pulled out the plug and the music spilled out along with vocals. “The thing is, this one really needs to be sung, by a woman.”

Spike snickered. “That's Morella.”

Faye morosely looked at the computer and sighed. “No chance of getting anyone who could perform like that.”

He crossed his arms. “How about Morella herself?”

“Oh yeah right. How you gonna get her on the ship by tomorrow?”

“Easy, walk two doors down and ask Maria.”

“She knows her?”

Spike grinned. “Maria is Morella.”

Faye practically shoved Spike out the door. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Uhhhh, Faye, can I get a shirt first?”

*

Maria sat on the couch, her eyes distant as she listened to the file. “Oh yes, recorded this one a while ago with the Alba City Orchestra. Of course you can use it.”

Faye took her hands. “We're hoping that you'd sing it for us.”

“Live?” She glanced between Spike and Faye. “Well, I'm not sure Jim would … ”

Spike shrugged. “Who cares what Jim thinks. Is it so shameful to be a singer? Do you want to do it?”

She blushed, looking down. “Yes. I do … and you two are so remarkable on the dance floor. But ever since Jim and I got married he has been trying to hold me back from the attention of the stage, something about people like us shouldn't engage in such behaviors.” Maria looked up, determination in her eyes. “Well, screw that! I'll do it.”

Faye embraced her. “Oh thank you!”

She laughed. “To be connected to your performances this year, oh they'll be talking about this for ages. That will be so much better than the usual idle chatter.” Glancing up at Spike, she gave a little wink. “Thank you for the invitation. I am honored you remembered.”

“You can thank Faye.” Spike held out a hand. “She's the one who stumbled on your song.”

“Alright,” Faye stood up, preparing a message on her phone. “I'll send the notification of the song change.”

Maria rose and strode for the door. “The orchestra practices ahead of time, during the time slots when the couples are in the rehearsal rooms. I spent a bit of time listening on previous days. There's just something about live music. I'll see if I can get a chance to run your song with them. It has been years since I have performed it. I'm so excited. See you tomorrow!”

The door closed behind her. Spike tossed his white suit jacket on, heading for the door.

Faye glanced up from her phone. “Where do you think are you going?”

“Out for a bit.” He waved from the door. “Don't worry, I'll be at the practice in a few.”

“Spike, what are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes, hand on the door jam. “Just need a drink. No big deal.” Without another word he shut the door as a startled expression flared on her face.

The halls were not empty, quite a few couples with a lot of extra time on their hands mingled as he wandered through heading for the bar on the upper deck. That place was pretty neat including a glass dome to star gaze through. Today he wasn't interested in the dome so much as a good stiff shot of whiskey. Sure, it was early. But who really cared? A drink was a drink regardless of what time, right?

Waiting for the elevator, a rather loud shout caught his ear. Mr. Vanderleer shoved another man dressed in a shirt with no jacket. “What do you think you are doing here on this deck? This is for first class only. You are a servant. How dare you rise above your station. You should not be off your deck unless you are with your master.”

Spike stiffened at the rebuke. The recipient cowered against the wall, holding his arm close to his chest.

But Vanderleer wasn't finished. “Waste of resources keeping your lot alive. You sully the air we breathe. Nameless scoundrels like you will never be worth anything. Nothing but sources of disease and mischief. Probably the origin of that horrid pox that's all over the news.”

Mrs. Vanderleer walked around the poor servant. “Lower class, nothing but pieces of worthless trash. You can tell just by looking at them. If you ask me, dear, that entire class should just die off.”

Mr. Vanderleer joined her, taking her arm with a sneer over his shoulder as the man moved off with his head bowed. “What class?” The moment they passed Spike the Vanderleers snapped into a wide seemingly genuine smile. “Well, if it isn't the astonishing Mr. Sterling.”

But Spike's jaw was a little too tight to respond with more than a nod. Their words echoing still, _never amount to anything._

Mrs. Vanderleer offered Spike a coy smile. “My now, what an honor it is to be this close to one of your caliber. You are simply amazing. We all thought that Carlos and Roberta would remain the victors in an unbroken streak. But not now.”

Spike half hooded his eyes, taking out a cigarette to cover for the length of time before he could muster a reply. “What can I say, I'm a whole new breed.”

The elevator door opened. He stepped in and hit the close button, thankful they hadn't followed. Alone he had a few moments to himself. Not that it helped. Seeing proof of what lay beneath the civilized veneer just a reminder of the bitter imbalance in life. When the door opened he remained tense beneath the exterior. Entering his goal he walked right up to the bar and took a stool.

The bartender glanced up. Spike held up three fingers. “Whiskey, neat.”

“Top shelf?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Flipping a glass onto the counter, the tender grinned. “Morning drink, eh? Unusual. But, you got company.” He slid the drink in front of Spike and turned back to the shelves. Wiping down the already pristine bottles.

Spike took a sip and glanced to his side. Dr. Adenine slumped on a stool, his gaze lost into a half drunk vodka. After a long moment, he looked up and heaved a sigh. “Kinda early for drinking, I know. It's Sterling, isn't it?”

Spike shrugged. “Eh, what is time anyway? To heck with all the formal stuff. Call me Spike.” His hand came to his chest, only then did he realize he hadn't put his tie on, nor buttoned his shirt all the way up. So much for the upper class appearance. Maybe that was why Faye looked so damn startled. Hopefully she didn't kill him when he came back.

Adenine laid forward on his arms. “Call me mud.”

He cocked his head. “Something wrong, Doctor?”

“Daniel.” He closed his eyes. “No point in calling me a doctor. I won't be one much longer.”

Well, this was a touch odd. Didn't Jet say a transport was being sent to pick him up? Was he that worried about catching the illness? Did he _have_ the pox? Spike found himself sliding backward a touch. “Uhh, why?”

Daniel downed the rest of the vodka, slamming the glass on the bar. His hand shook. “Its gone. All of it. My assistant called me. The back-up has been wiped. Every shred of research on the virus … molecular makeup, how it replicates, the paths it takes to attack the immune system, the keys to slow it down. Mere steps from curing it. All gone. My laptop, wiped. There is no point in me going back to the lab. It will take months to regather the data. By then … Europa's population will be decimated.”

Spike took another sip of his whiskey, reminding himself of the persona he was supposed to be playing. Double-O Spike, as Ed would call him, might be keen enough to ask questions. But unfortunately, the trust fund moron he was supposed to be wouldn't. At the moment this stupid charade still smarted from the Vanderleer's remarks. After all, which population was likely to be most impacted by this? Sure as hell wouldn't be those with the resources to get off the planet before the quarantine. Daniel didn't mention the transport, something that was not common knowledge. So Spike clearly couldn't bring that up.

Daniel held the glass up. “I need another, and yet it won't be enough to drown the guilt from lives that will be lost.”

“Hey, it's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“My laptop had remote access to the drives. It's the only way in. If I had left it in the secured lab no one could have reached through the backdoor.”

Spike swallowed the rest of his whiskey, lost in thought. _Backdoors? If they found __**everything**__, they had to have known to look for the backups, not just grab the intel. Not an easy task._

Daniel glanced at him. “So, tell me, I'm usually not a heavy drinker … what's a hangover like?”

“Huh? Why would you ask me?”

“Well, I figured an alcoholic would know.”

Spike blinked, his hand still on the glass. “I uh … well, I enjoy a good drink. But I'm not really … what makes you say that?”

He lifted a shoulder. “What else would explain the current leader in the contest drinking at this hour?”

The splash of whiskey refilling his glass snapped his eyes up to the bar tender. He didn't really have an answer as he threw back the next gulp.


	24. Session 24

_ **Session 24** _

Fernando stood in the middle of the practice room, hands on his hips as he fixed Faye with a glare. “The day before the most critical round in the contest and you decide to change the music on me which requires a complete overhaul in choreography?”

Faye heaved a sigh and studied her nails, trying to escape the slight tug of Spike's smug smile. Even from here now she could smell the scent of whiskey lingering with the stale cigarette smoke, clearly he'd been at the bar for those missing hours. She needed a cigarette bad, but didn't dare to ask Spike for one. Even though she had glimpsed a pack and his lighter in his sweatpants pocket. The lunkhead had been correct on their way here when he had mentioned Fernando might not be overjoyed by the change of plans, even though Faye had told him hours ago in a message.

“You are lucky we have this room for as long as we do! Since we're down to a handful of finalists our time is unlimited today, or else you'd be screwed.” He paused for a moment, a grin flashed on his face. “You're also saved by the fact that I've had couples pull this crap on me before. Routines on the fly are old hat.”

Maybe he wasn't _that_ angry? Faye tried not to bite her lip. Fernando had already proved amazing at shaping the best routines to showcase their skills. But something about the glint in his eyes worried her. He looked a … a smidge too eager.

“Faye, can you do the splits?”

She looked over her nails. “Yes. All the way down.”

Fernando turned to Spike. “And you?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Of course.” A pause with the lift an eyebrow. “Why?” That was the tone he often employed when Jet suggesting something he wasn't going to like.

But _why_ was precisely what Faye wanted to know. The sudden brightening of Fernando's expression quickened her pulse. Especially when his hands clapped together. “Ok, hope you two had a solid breakfast. I've got you until dinner!”

Spike slid Faye a baleful glare.

Fernando waved a hand to the center of the room. “Let the torture commence.”

*

An elbow nudged Spike's ribs. His eyes snapped open to find himself standing in the dinning room surrounded by silks, satin, and wool. He blinked and tried not to rub sore muscles through his dress jacket. Shit, Fernando let his cruel streak flare into full throttle during that last session. He had to wonder if half of that so called rehearsal had been sheer spite.

Dressed to the nines for the final dinner before the end of the contest, Faye leaned over and whispered beneath her stole, “Stop nodding off.”

Spike reached up and adjusted his tie before whisper-snapping back, “Gimme a break, Faye. I'm tired after how many hours of crash course contortion?”

“It doesn't matter. You go face down in the soup tonight and I'm not waking you up. I'll let you drown.”

_Now there's an idea._ “I think I might die happy, provided it's not some fancy ass gourmet flavor concocted from slug-slime.”

A waiter came around with a tray loaded with champagne glasses. Spike took two and handed one to Faye. He followed her lead and didn't take a sip. After all, no one was, clearly waiting for some social cue. Polite conversations continued, though he could not fail to notice the divisions. Once more the current contestants lingered in their own pool actively avoiding those who had been knocked out of the running. That struck him as amusing considering the mock comaraderie among the finalists. Such a lonely view at the top. The air was filled with the thinly veiled ill-wishes between the last eight couples standing, or seven of them, anyway. The Dunninghams strutted through like they owned the joint, sizing up the other couples while offering coy waves. And he'd have to be dead to miss the scathing glances from Carlos and Roberta, the pair decked out in scarlet and white as though they were the target to aim for.

Something about their expressions changed, souring further as if disgusted by a sudden scent. Spike followed their line of sight to note Jim and Maria breaking the invisible line of separation, champagne in hand.

“Maria wanted to come over and congratulate you two on getting into the finals.” Jim held up his glass, but in good manners did not sip yet.

At his side, Maria bowed her head and shared a conspiratorial wink with Faye. Oh what a devilish smile shared between the two. Spike kept Jim focused on him so he wouldn't catch it, nor the quiet conversation between the women—yes everything was ready. “Thanks. You two made it quite far.”

“Eh,” Jim lifted a shoulder. “Dad would have called this another one of my failed ventures. I don't look forward to going home … uhh empty handed.”

“Take it that your stolen property hasn't turned up yet.”

He hung his head. “Nope. And I haven't told him, either. This is … well … I'll probably be dis-inherited for this.”

That crappy high-class leash again. Spike watched the bubbles in the champagne, contemplating what the heck he could even say when their hosts entered the room. As Ohmar and Cleo Tutford paraded through to the raised platform with their table all eyes turned to them and silence descended.

Cleo faced them all. “Tonight is the final dinner before the finale round. Tomorrow the eight finalist couples will take the floor for the cabaret, a dance that showcases the skills of those who have proven they deserve the privilege of dancing to the top. We have been amazed by the performances this year. As usual the Espositos brought their signature style.”

The Espositos brandished smug smiles like trophies and held out their glasses in an air toast, sweeping around to the room. A gesture that looked pointedly conceited. No one corrected them. Everyone clapped politely despite the open insult.

Ohmar joined her side and took over. “However, more than a few surprises presented themselves. In the final round, among some of our longstanding finalists, we have several new couples. The greatest of which is the current first place holders, the newly wed Sterlings.”

All eyes turned their way. Spike and Faye each held up their glass to the Tutfords during the wash of applause. Somehow it felt awkward to Spike, but at his side Faye's smile was as genuine as he'd ever seen on her. Let her have this.

Cleo waved a hand over the other finalist couples. “We cannot possibly continue without mentioning the other finalists who have shown remarkable flexibility in this contest. The Idos, the Straussbergs, the Dunninghams, the Kellers, the Rochelles, and the Writenhouses. All eight couples will compete for the grand prize tomorrow. And so, we toast to your combined success on making this the closest final round since we started the competition. You are all the cream of the crop. The finest that society has to offer. The pinnacle of the elite class.”

Everyone raised their glasses high. Spike took little pleasure in the beady expressions of some of their competitors. The threat of murder in more than one of their gazes. They drank, but the fine champagne flavored by the ill reception seemed like ash in his mouth.

The toast complete, Ohmar took his wife's hand. “Before we dine, we beg the pleasure of a brief indulgence. Cleo, would you let me have this dance?”

The quartet started to play, tucked back in the corner as the Tutfords took to a small dance floor off to the side watched by everyone.

Spike's stomach growled a bit louder than he would have liked. It drew a quick glance from Faye. He sighed and whispered, “What? I'm hungry. We didn't get lunch.”

“Whose fault was it you drank your breakfast.”

“Mmmph.” His brows knitted for a moment. But he sighed and set his empty glass on the waiter's passing tray.

Faye watched the dance floor, a wistfulness in her eyes. “You know, they make a cute couple.”

Jim laughed. “Match made in the stars. This contest is their entire life. That's why they go so far to make this like nothing else. This cruise ship was built specifically for it. After all, nothing else would have the room for all the live musicians, the practice rooms, the ball room. They truly love what they do. Wish my life could be like that.”

Lifting a shoulder Faye shrugged. “Who says it can't?”

Jim flushed, and studied his shoes as the music filled the uncomfortable silence.

In the shadow across the room Daniel hung his head looking no more at ease than earlier. In fact, to Spike the man looked several shades paler. Dark bags beneath his eyes. His wife clung to his elbow, worry in her eyes. It came as little surprise that nearly no one came into their vicinity. Except … as Spike watched from the corner of his eye he spotted Brookridge leaning back and whispering to Daniel. From that angle the bureaucrat couldn't have caught the expression shift. But Spike did. Daniel's eyes shot wider, he cringed as his wife held him from collapsing to the floor.

He had barely a moment to consider this when a flurry of motion closer to him demanded his attention. Phillip Dunningham rushed out of the room, pushing people out of the way. His hand wiping his forehead.

A moment later, Eliza's heels clacked across the floor, worry in her eyes.

Jim shook his head. “Too much pressure from the contest?”

The hollow of Spike's stomach complained again. “Sure,” he muttered, wondering when dinner would be. His hand hit his pocket. He'd neglected to put anything in there. Not his cigarettes, lighter, or his phone. This was going to be a long night.

*

Jet leaned back in the cockpit of the _Bebop. _Her course steady as she goes drifting through the stars outside of the hypergates. This was not how they normally traveled, nor for this long. When Faye had first proposed this gamble he figured it would be quick work to tease out the suspects. Especially once she opted to take Spike instead. With his keen eyes, it should have been child's play.

Huh! Shoulda known this would go like every other gig. At least one dreaded scenario hadn't played out. The _Golden Calf_ still continued on her course in one piece. She wasn't reduced to a burning wreck. By some miracle Spike had stayed on board for two weeks without utterly destroying it.

Hell, by the broadcast coverage, team covert _Bebop_ was performing rather well. Who would have thought that Spike and Faye could actually climb to first in the contest. As Jet lit a cigarette the other side of that nagged him. Was that all they were doing? Dancing and dining instead of staying on point?

Given Faye's pampered tastes and Spike's appetite it wouldn't surprise him. Halfway into scowling he broke into a chuckle and shook his head. “Seriously, what was I thinking letting those two run off like this. Probably come back and expect their noodles to be served with silver platters and spoons.”

For the first time since they started the con he pulled up the file on Ivanhoe and Uhrikha Bruusikhov. Yup. It looked legit. Everything checked out as a real bounty. So Faye hadn't just made up something for a vacation. Wouldn't be the first trick bounty the crew had turned for the sake of manipulation.

He rubbed his head. Of course she hadn't filed it. There had been the matter of the broadcasts. Shortwave. By now Jet had closed the distance, coming up behind the _Golden Calf_ to where she blipped on the radar edge. A nice steady course for a pleasure cruise. He didn't want to alarm them, so he kept back coasting along in the stardust.

Edward popped up out of the dark beside him. “Shortbread! Shortbread! Wavey wavey-blip!”

Startled out his reverie, Jet caught his dropped cigarette before fixing her with a sour glare. “Translate out of Ed-speak please.”

“Oh easy peasy.” Ed tugged her goggles back. One of the little robo-compys hopped up, nesting in her tangled hair. Thankfully it was the quiet one, Shuĭ. “Intercepted another shortwave.”

“In code?”

“Of course. It's silly though.” Ed swayed back and forth. “_**Chicken grew legs. Flew coop.**_”

Jet's nose wrinkled. “Whuh?”

“I know.” Ed plucked the compy from her hair, cradled him and held onto his splayed feet. “Chickens already have feet, they don't grow them.”

“Did you tell Spike and Faye?”

Ed paused for moment, the compy in her arms lay on its back in a semblance of bliss. “No. Just cracked-pepper the code.”

Dialing through Jet waited. And waited. And waited. Spike didn't answer. He sighed and tried Faye's phone. Same result. At last he leaned forward staring at the time. “Damn it. Bet they're at dinner and can't respond without blowing cover. We'll have to try and catch them after.”

An alarm blared. Jet sat bolt upright and turned in time to glimpse the yellow marked compy glancing worriedly down into the hanger bay. The door was opening. A moment later a white dotted compy floated out in front of the bridge looking quite perplexed through the window, a disconnected handle still clutched in its flailing claws.

Ed stood up. “Ny—yah. Jīn's outside again.”

“Again!” Pushing up, Jet growled. “If he didn't have the release lever for the bay I'd leave his metal feathered ass out there! Dammit, that's all I need. To spend the rest of the night trying to catch that floating piece of space trash. More trouble than Spike and Faye combined.”

“That's saying something.” Ed hugged Shuĭ to her. “You need to talk to your brother before Jet takes him apart for parts.”

Shuĭ's peep was the last thing Jet heard as he stomped down the stairs to launch the Hammerhead for recovery duty. “The shit I put up with!”


	25. Session 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Never Enough” is a gorgeous song from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. And considering that the seed of this particular fic was hearing “Rewrite the Stars” from the same soundtrack over a store speaker, it seemed destined to be the finale music. When I heard “Rewrite...” I pictured Faye changing Spike into her vision of what he should be, and the two cutting a rug on the dance floor, however Spike not being ultra thrilled with being a dandy—yes that's how it all began, the rest of the story built around that image. Unlike previous sections, I cannot claim the choreography for this round, as it is based on a routine I tripped across while researching cabaret competition level dances. This one was so perfect for the duo I had to use it. I jotted down the motion descriptions while looping the video. If you want to see the performance, look up Shane & Shannon Jensen Never Enough on Youtube, you won't be disappointed! As is always the case with sections involving lyrics this one has two versions: lyricless on Fanfiction, with lyrics on AO3. I recommend the lyric version because the song itself is so damn powerful. Though Spike and Faye are not an official couple in my works, they have found value in one another, and the depth of different bond as teammates. My username is the same between sites, FF has a space, AO3 doesn't, that's the only difference.

_ **Session 25** _

Jet clicked through the channels until he found the right one, kicking his feet back he rested them on the table edge. The click of Ein's claws beat a wild cadence against the plate decking the moment the contest intro music started.

In his wake Ed came swinging along the railing. “Eeeeeeyaaaaay! Final round! Final round! Finale rally, grand bean round!” Over the back of the couch, she vaulted and landed cross-legged next to Jet. Ein leapt into her lap, eyes focused on the screen.

Everything seemed perfect, until one by one the little robotic compys appeared. Somehow the damn things were silent when they wanted to be. Jet was about to curl his lip when he glanced to the couch arm to find Shuĭ with a beer can in his mouth. Sighing, Jet took the can and cracked the lid on the compy's teeth. “At least one of you is useful.” He slipped a glare at Jīn. The thieving beast opened claws and jaws proving they were empty before sticking his tongue out. “You're lucky. One of these days I'm going to scrap you.”

Ed tugged on Jet's shirt sleeve. “Shh, starting!”

The music dwindled, Derrick and Veronica appeared on their regular position in the balcony above the dance floor. The sparkle of a crystal chandelier behind them. The announcers were all grins as Derrick began. _“Welcome to the exciting conclusion of the Ihy Intergalactic Dance Competition. We're aboard the decadent Golden Calf, moments away from the first couple taking the floor.”_

Veronica clutched a fist, trembling for effect. _“That's right! And the excitement is in the air. Eight husband and wife teams have competed on a grueling schedule to qualify for the privilege of dancing in the final round. Always a guarantee to showcase the very best. This year has been no exception.”_

“_In fact, we've had the greatest upset in the rankings since the Espositos first entered years ago. Everyone is wondering who will come out on top.”_

“_At the moment the combined scores are pretty close. Only a few points separate the leaders, the Sterlings in first, and the Espositos nipping at their heels. The remaining six teams are all within a stone's throw of one another. It is possible, if something happens, for one of them to rise to first place. But odds are we're looking at a battle between last year's champions and this year's challenging couple.”_

“_Tonight the dance is the most dangerous format. The cabaret. Known for demanding acrobatic feats and precision, these are routines where a mistake can lead to serious injury. It is not for the faint of heart.”_

“_That's right. Concussions, broken bones including necks and ribs, lacerations from heeled shoe strikes, anything can happen when the balance is pushed this far.”_

Jet chuckled. “And they got Spike and Faye there. Heh. Sounds like a typical day on the job.”

On the screen the camera panned around the floor. The bulk of the tables were pulled back, people attired in fine suits and dresses drank cocktails and picked at hors d'oeuvres. None of these were the current competitors. They mingled in the pre-round atmosphere without a care. Closer to the freshly polished floor perimeter eight small tables spread. Each with one couple perched on chairs. These were not in typical attire. The guys mostly in skin tight stretchy body suits, and the women in high legged sequin flashing attire that looked like swimsuits, some bedecked in plums of feathers or strings of shining gems. One thing for certain, there was a lot of skin showing.

Ed pointed to the corner of the screen. “Look! Ed sees them! Spike-person and Faye-Faye!”

Leaning forward Jet squinted. She was right. Spike's fluffy hair was hard to miss. At least he'd managed to stop flattening it down with the goop. Maybe he'd run out of the stuff. Spike leaned back in his chair, a martini in front of him. He had on a set of dark blue pants with a slightly lighter blue shirt, tiny sparkles like stars spattered it. Jet noted that his shirt cuffs had straps that slid over his middle fingers, holding the sleeve in place. That, and there were no cuffs to his pants, those vanished into the shoes. A belt sparkled with a few gemstones. From here it was impossible to tell if they were real or synthetic. On the other side of the table, Faye's sequined attire caught the lights in a dazzling display. Hers looked like the fabric had been tie-dyed into the semblance of a blue and purple nebula. Sleeveless, the garment was high cut at the hips with a dark blue gauzy skirt attached to it. Around her neck a sapphire studded choker. The lights shimmered on a gorgeous gem studded comb in her hair, it also looked like sapphires and diamonds.

As the camera panned over the rest of the couples, Jet couldn't help but note that the two fit right in with the remaining couples. It wasn't just the amount of skin showing, he noticed that the attire was, without exception, accentuating the muscular build of the dancers. While some of the couples in the background carried a bit of extra, none of those around the immediate dance floor did. Even if they had started with some, the rigorous schedule had burnt it off.

Of course Spike and Faye never had. Life on the _Bebop _generally didn't allow much for indulgences.

“_Alright, looks like the first couple is ready. Here we have Phillip and Eliza Dunningham to open the cabaret...”_

*

Spike gulped the last of his martini down as the couple before them finished. He reached up and rubbed his shoulder thankful it wasn't as sore as yesterday. Guiltily, he glanced at Faye's bare shoulder beneath the shimmering sequins. At least she hadn't bruised. Not everything had gone well the other day in rehearsal. By some fortune they hadn't been seriously injured. His shoes lacked traction, the idea was to allow sliding of the feet. In theory nice, but Faye had on heels this time, all while he'd be swinging her around. One momentum too far and things could get bloody.

The routine ran through his head, not the names of the moves, those Fernando had discarded when talking to Spike. Instead it was about feel and flow. And he had to hand to the man, this one flowed! Like working with his sensei, though Fernando had channeled water without even realizing it. Once they got this round out of the way, they'd have time on the trip back to Ganymede through regular space to find the bounty heads. No sweat.

All they had to do now was nail the balance through the sequence. The marginal lead wasn't much, and the Espositos had already brought it to the line. Their routine looked more like a gymnastics floor show. There was little doubt that would score high. The same with the Dunninghams. He glanced at their empty table. Shortly after their routine they had left. Neither one looked particularly well. The thought hadn't escaped him that their champagne glasses had been on the same tray. Had they narrowly avoided the Espositos attempting to poison them? Spike wouldn't put it beyond them.

Up on the orchestra stage a slight commotion disturbed the darkness. Spike grinned catching a glimpse of a microphone placed out front and center.

“_Next up we have a slight change in program. Hah, I swear that the Sterlings do this just to keep the others guessing. Their music has changed. Looks like they will be performing to Never Enough.”_

“_A song made popular by Morella.”_

There was a pause, something that sounded like a mic nearly being dropped by the announcers. _“Uhh, Derrick, according to this it will be __**performed**__ live by Morella.”_

“_She's here? Where?”_

“_Uhhh, ladies and gentlemen. Spike and Faye Sterling dancing to Never Enough, performed by Morella and the Golden Calf orchestra.”_

By now Spike and Faye had made their way onto the floor, confident smiles on their faces. They had this. Spike took a deep breath, concentrating. This whole thing, far more than the other routines, relied on mutual center of balance. As much as he'd hated Fernando's persistence, he hadn't let them leave the room until they had it synced down to the minute fraction.

And so with the first piano chords, it began …

Facing away from one another, an arm length away, Spike reached back and Faye touched his hand for just a second before she spun away from him. Now most of the floor separated them, they stared out as if searching frantically for one another. At last, in a spiraling course they closed the distance.

A spotlight hit the orchestra, to several hushed cries, the first of which was definitely Jim, “Maria!” “Lansing is Morella?”

Spike had a moment to savor the commotion the reveal brought before her voice banished everything. She sung into a brief void, the orchestra pausing for effect. The whole thing bespelling.

“I'm trying to hold my breath  
Let it stay this way”

Faye's back pressed against Spike's chest. His hands tucked under her arms, he lifted and spun her gently before releasing into a spiral out. They faced one another. Hands reaching to caress eachother's faces. Hunger in that gesture, Fernando's prompt sprung in his mind. Sinking down onto their knees before one another, hands on eachother's shoulder, they each slid their head beneath other's arm—keep it desperate, that thought ran through Spike's mind. That's what this whole narrative was about, desire. An embodiment of desire for something out of reach.

  
“Can't let this moment end  
You set off a dream in me”

Spike rose to his feet and pulled Faye into a slide on the floor between his legs. Spiraling around with a high swing kick over her head, he faced away from her. With a reach backward between his legs, he grabbed her waiting wrists. Angle was everything. Bracing his core, he popped her through and up. For her part, Faye swung into it, her weight shifting and settling into the overhead lift. Spike's right hand braced the small of her back, his left hand gripped her left ankle to balance her. She laid back and spread her arms wide, as though she had fallen backward into a pool of water.

  
“Getting louder now  
Can you hear it echoing?”

In a slow spin around the floor, he carried her, picking up the momentum until she spiraled down onto Spike's shoulder to the floor in a one foot touch then swoop. Graceful and elegant. An angel landing. She turned and they faced one another, arms crossed into a mutual wrist grab. Simultaneously they rolled out of the cross until Faye laid back into his arms and lifted her right leg in a flare. Separating, they twisted and turned, using a series of grasps to produce momentum across the floor. Her smile positively glowed, she was in the moment.  
  


“Take my hand  
Will you share this with me?”

Pulling Faye in, Spike lifted her over his head in a horizontal plank onto her right side. He couldn't see it, but he felt the slight balance shift settle evenly as she tucked her right ankle behind and over the top left. Perfectly balanced she didn't so much as wobble.

“'Cause darling without you”

Faye widened her arms into a vertical spread as Spike carried her around the floor like a soaring bird. She could have been one of those graceful swans from the ballet everyone always yapped about. But Spike snapped his mind from wandering. Lost focus in a hold could result in injury.

  
“All the shine of a thousand spotlights  
All the stars we steal from the night sky  
Will never be enough”

With her still over his head, Spike spun in a tighter circle, anticipating as Faye opened up and stretched the top leg forward until she laid into a flat spin. Once he compensated for the weight shift, he accelerated. If he wasn't fast enough there wouldn't be sufficient inertia. In the spin Faye folded and dropped down, cradled into Spikes arms. She gripped her arms around his neck, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was ready. Spike took a deep breath and hoped he was ready too, as the music surged.

  
“Never be enough”

In sync he released the arm beneath her shoulders as she let go. All that kept her from face planting was his grip in the crook of her knees. On that fulcrum she slung backward, her hair lashed the floor, frighteningly close to disaster. But they had it controlled. His arm at the perfect height, her weight shifted and tucked at the precise moments to avoid smashing into the polished floor. He held her through the apex and brought her back into a gentle slide away from him. Her feet toward him.

  
“Towers of gold are still too little  
These hands could hold the world but it'll  
Never be enough”

Reaching down he seized her left ankle and dragged her across the floor as she rolled with it. Her arms flailed against the floor in a pantomimed attempt to get away, but there was no escaping the lure. In the middle of the floor, Spike gripped her ankle firmly and spiraled. The momentum slowly rose Faye off the floor in a spin. She arched her back and stretched her right arm behind her head. She looked like a falling ballerina.

  
“Never be enough

For me”

Spike slowed the spin, and released her. She slid out until friction stopped her. Around her fallen form, he twisted down letting his own momentum take him into a slide past her. His grip on her hand on the way by what ultimately stopped him. Like falling off a cliff, only minus the cliff. Laid out flat, facing one another they grinned. Damn this was working! But it wasn't over. They twisted their legs beneath them, foot against foot and took a deep breath. Spike could feel Faye prepping herself, steeling her limbs, for this required just as much work from her. If she didn't hold it, he couldn't get her where she needed to be.

  
“Never, never  
Never, never  
Never, for me”

Braced against her foot, Spike popped Faye up into a vertical layout over his head. His left arm a pillar on the floor, left knee bent, right leg back as balance, right arm straight, his hand a pedestal for her hip. Faye's left hand stabilized on his shoulder, left leg down, right limbs up in the air. They faced one another, exchanging winks. Maintaining this, Spike crawled in a slow circle on his knee. He twisted around at the end bracing Faye's leg as he climbed to his feet and walked with her still above his head.

  
“For me  
Never enough”

As he spun in a tight circle, Faye dropped her other leg down into his waiting hand performing the full splits over his head, facing the floor. In his hands he felt her slight tremble, the full of her weight braced across her leg-span as she leaned forward. The core strength required was incredible. Here Spike had the easy part, just don't drop her.   
  


“Never enough”

She twisted into a sideways pike and grabbed her left ankle, which would have been the top leg. Spike let the weight settle for another turn.   
  


“Never enough”

Spike adjusted his grip into a one-hander on her left leg. Firm and rigid, Faye was perfectly level in the spin as he stretched his arm out. Ok, now that we are here, time to get out of it.   
  


“For me  
For me  
For me!”

Bringing her down into a front hold, he flipped her around his torso in a swing dance move. At last her feet touched down in front of him. Breathless from the exertion, they took a planned moment to pause. Hands brushed cheeks again. Sweat glistened on her brow. But she was steady as her gaze. Thoroughly in the moment. As Spike found himself. He had never imagined feeling this _in the groove_ with her. But there it was. They were killing it!

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights  
All the stars we steal from the night sky  
Will never be enough

Never be enough”

Side by side they strutted and turned in a series of slow spins, alternating one and two handed swings all fueled by the rising course of the music. Surging toward the next precision moment. Spike brought her to a sideways position and grabbed her thigh, flipping her like a propeller. Faye never even blinked, more than ready for it.

“Towers of gold are still too little  
These hands could hold the world but it'll  
Never be enough”

She came around from the flip and he laid her on the ground, once more grasping her ankle into a drag across the floor. This time he braced her foot against his and pulled her up into his arms. She faced outward as he flipped her around letting the inertia drag him.

“Never be enough”

In the release the control switched to Faye as she guided him to the floor. He rolled face down, arms in a push up position as Faye straddled his waist, standing with an arm up, gazing at the ceiling. Spike braced himself, this one wasn't a typical dance move. But Faye came up with it, and he hadn't argued with her. Well, he couldn't—it was bad ass.

“For me!”

Spike pushed up slowly, Faye placed her hands on his shoulders. As he came up, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles. Spike didn't keep his toes on the floor, tightening his core he started to pike his legs. In tandem, keeping it locked in a controlled balance, Faye's weight tipped forward until she was parallel with the floor, arms out at her sides as Spike committed to a full on handstand. The balance required was incredibly precise. Even over the music the gasps penetrated his concentration. One of those was Carlos. They held the position for a moment, Spike relished the surge of adrenaline permitting this inverted trick. At the beat Faye released into a somersault. Spike settled back, catching the balance shift.

“Never, never

Never, never

Never

For me

For me”

Spike dropped back into a pike and rolled back to his feet into a mutual chase around the floor to catch up with Faye's wild throes. As well as this was going, Faye would get her dream, the shining tiara was within their grasp. Spike caught her and rolled her up into a partial split hold chest height, followed by a spring into a cartwheel hold. By now the adrenaline coursed through him, the lifts became easier in his second wind.

“Never enough

Never, never,

Never enough

Never, never

Never enough

For me”

Not everything could be airborne. Fernando had assumed they'd be tired and planned floor work. Around the floor in a series of caresses they went until Spike flung Faye into a sweep spiral around the floor. She relaxed into a full layout rounding several times. It ended with Spike flinging her back up into a hold. But not just any hold. Spike held her upright, aloft with both hands gripping her left leg. One on her ankle, the other wrapped higher on her thigh. Her upper body straight she beamed out at the audience.

“For me

For me

For me!”

Faye held her arms out like a figurehead on a ship drifting around the dance floor. Still holding her in this posture, Spike paused and dropped down into a full frontal split, all the way to the floor. Faye stepped off of him in a gentle glide just as though she were stepping onto a platform without a care in the world. In a smooth motion, eyes locked on her as she gazed back at him, he slid upright without the aid of his arms. That was not something just anyone could do. Spike offered a triumphant smile.

“For me.” Morella's voice trembled on the last chord.

Faye slid down on her knees on a collision course with Spike for the final embrace. The image of desire obtained …

In a blink, something else collided with Faye, pushing her across the floor with a startled shriek. Spike didn't have a moment to consider, as the next thing he felt was his own weight mercilessly driven across the dance floor, and his shoes had no traction.


	26. Session 26

_ **Session 26** _

Jet couldn't look away from the screen. Disbelief that the two out on the dance floor really were his ship mates. Had someone taken on their physical appearances? And yet there were flashes of their grins as they moved around in the camera eye. Incredible.

A strange alert sound came from beside the couch, Ed pulled her goggles on in response and cocked her head. “Ehh? Hrm … Ed's code filter caught another message. Sent and received fifteen minutes ago.”

Almost in a daze, Jet responded, “What's it say?”

She scratched her head. “_**Bring the biscuit instead.**_”

Jet scrunched up his nose and glanced at her. “Biscuit? That nonsense again?”

The googles practically fell off her eyes as she nodded. In her lap, Ein suddenly growled at the broadcast, his hackles rising to full bristle.

_Why would the dog growl at the screen? _Turning back to the contest, Jet sat bolt upright as two figures dashed onto the dance floor colliding with Spike and Faye.

“I knew this was a tough competition, but when did this become a ballroom blitz?”

A second later an alarm from the bridge blared. Ed rocked forward, singing, “That's the proximity alert you had Edward set up. Something's approaching.”

Jet threw himself up the stairs. “Shit!”

*

Skidding across the floor, Spike found himself in a tangled wrestling grab from behind. An arm attempting to trap his neck in a choke hold. Whoever was behind it had caught him by total surprise. Well of course they had, Spike had been laser focused on the routine. Once the momentum lost to friction, he struggled to get out of the grapple, fortunately having gotten a hand in front of his throat to prevent the worst possible scenario. Able to keep enough pressure from crushing his throat, he pushed and twisted, but the hold was too good. Too professional.

Cracking his eyes open he glimpsed Faye standing with her hair all a mess. The gem-encrusted comb torn out and now gripped in a vicious tug of war between her and … Eliza Dunningham?

Gritting his teeth, Spike snarled at his unseen assailant, “That must mean you're Phillip … or should I say—Ivanhoe.”

A hoarse laugh beside his ear, the voice devoid of the elegant overlay as he called over to Faye, “Hand the comb over to her, or I'll kill him.”

Eliza, or as Spike corrected in his mind, Uhrikha, tugged on one end of the hair comb, growling, “You're the one who stole my comb, you thief! Give it back!”

Equally miffed, Faye stomped a heel at Uhrikha's foot and held fast to the other end. “I did not steal it! Let go!”

Spike couldn't really spare much attention to the tug of war at the moment. Distracted as Ivanhoe was, his grip shifted. Offering a huffing laugh, Spike tried once more to glance back. “You two really fucked up. She had her heart set on winning this thing. She's _really_ gonna be pissed now.”

“Heh, I don't really give a shit.”

“You should.” In a swift twist, Spike took advantage of the space Ivanhoe'd left and popped out of the grapple. Coming up onto his knees he flashed a grin. “She's the most vindictive bitch I know.”

Ivanhoe was about to respond when a snap stole both their attention. Silence between Faye and Uhrikha. Each one held half of the hair comb. Inside the thin casing, the end of the micro-drive protruded. That end in Uhrikha's hand of course.

Shock pervaded as she held it up, “I have it! Let's go!”

Ivanhoe jumped to his feet and ran after her. His fist raised into the air and he pressed a button on a handheld device. All around the deck every security officer dropped unconscious amid a chorus of shrieks from the crowd.

Spike and Faye exchanged the briefest glance, blurting in unison, “The drive!” In a mad dash they tore after the Bruusikhov's. It wasn't every day the prey flushed itself.

Spike's shoes slipped on the polished floor. Halfway across, and not making enough progress with the slick soles, he cursed aloud and tugged one shoe after the other off. Bare feet slapped the floor making for better traction. He pined for his gun, but that was back on the _Bebop_. Improvised weapon time it was. In a huff he threw first one and then the other at the back of Invanhoe's head. The first one nailed him, but of course shoes weren't exactly bullets. Ivanhoe kept going, blocking the path to intercept Uhrikha as she charged up the stairs ahead of him.

Spike and Faye barreled up the stairs hot on their heels. The moment they came to the top a shot rang out. Ivanhoe brandished one of the fallen security guard's guns. The bullet pinged off the railing, but it kept the duo's heads down, paused in their pursuit.

Faye glared their direction. “Dammit! What were they thinking, tackling us like that!”

“Where did you find that comb?”

“Does it matter?”

Spike peeked above the step to another shot, ducking back down. “It might.”

“In the restroom, you know, the night of the slugfeast? I picked it up off the floor.”

“Eliza went in before you … she must have dropped it and didn't realize it.”

Faye brandished a fist. “She didn't have to tackle me like that. Damn it, there goes our performance score! I swear I'm gonna kick her teeth in!”

Peering again, no shot followed, Spike waved a hand and they both took off following the shadow cast on the wall. It became obvious the way they were headed, Spike's heart thundered at the threat. They were headed for the bridge, it's the only place that made sense in this direction. And with security all knocked out, his cynical mind guessed how this would end if they couldn't intervene.

An alarmed shout interrupted the chase. Up ahead. Spike knew that pleading voice. Daniel Adenine. Skidding around the corner he caught a glimpse of Adenine with a gun to his head before he vanished.

“Shit! Now they got a hostage.” Pushing as fast as he could through the halls with Faye not far behind, Spike vaulted up the last flight of stairs and into the lobby-like area immediately outside of the bridge just as the heavy steel door slammed shut.

With all his might, Spike charged the door colliding with his shoulder in some vain hope that it wasn't latched. The result left him staggering backward, glaring at the barrier with a string of curses.

Breathing like a bull, Faye came to his side. Her brow furrowed as she pushed against the door. “Well this is just great. Can't you pick this lock?”

Spike studied the robust mechanism and shook his head. “I could, if you're not in a hurry. This is a complex model, would take too long, especially without any picks. I don't like them having access to the bridge. We need a faster solution.”

Both gazed around at the pillared room. Decor lined the walls, paintings, vases, a few tapestries. A veritable museum with ultimately nothing that looked helpful. Faye grumbled, “Where's a fire ax when you need one.”

No point in answering, this wasn't an area Spike had explored much, so he didn't know where the closest one was. Precious minutes ticked by until he stood back staring at Faye's heels. A slow smile grew as the calculations played out in his head.

Faye laid her palm on the door. “What we need is something with enough force to break through.”

“We have it.” When she turned, Spike pointed at her.

Hands on her hips, Faye snapped, “Is that some of kind of weight joke?”

“No. I'm dead serious,  _Señorita_ .” He held out a hand, gesturing for her to come to the middle of the room. “Neither of us is heavy enough to break through. However, all we gotta do is add enough inertia. If you can keep your knees locked, that door doesn't stand a chance.”

Just shy of placing her hand in his, Faye blinked back at the door. “You _sure_ you can release at the right angle? You screw this up and it's really gonna hurt. If I break a leg I'm gonna snap your neck!”

He grinned at her. “Trust me. I got this all worked out.” As he gripped both her wrists he took one last look at the door. “Yup, just a matter of spinning fast enough.”

Faye lifted an eyebrow. “Wait … you're calculating that in your head?”

“Yeah.”

“You lunkhead! Yours are the ideas that get people killed!” She tried to draw back, but he held her firm. “I'm not so sure I trust—”

He locked eyes with her. “Pulling this shit off isn't new. I just don't tell anyone about it. Like on the dance floor, trust me, the math is right. Now, hold on. Count of three!”

Swinging Faye into a layout spin he kept the center tight, faster and faster. Blurred figures appeared at the top of the stairs, but he only used that as a speed mark. Almost there. Marking the gleam of the steel door, through gritted teeth he called out, “Three! … Two! … One!” At the last word he let go, throwing Faye feet first. While Spike threw his all into the effort and ended up tumbling onto his backside, the path carried her airborne toward the door like a massive human lawn dart with a high heel point.

Full force she slammed into the door knocking it frame and all through the opening accompanied by a tremendous thud! Just as Spike had surmised, the door was strong—but the wall holding it wasn't metal.

Faye skidded to a halt on the bridge. Even from the gap Spike glimpsed the knocked out crew on the floor. The Bruusikhov's silhouettes frantic at the control panels. But they froze as the com link crackled out, _“ … not who you think they are! Cowboys from the Bebop, Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine!”_

Uhrikha turned toward Faye. Their expressions mutual hatred as they leapt toward one another like be-sequined wild cats. Confident Faye had this, Spike regained his footing and sprang for the doorway. Ivanhoe turned to face him just in time to deflect his thrown punch. One quick glance to the side, Spike spied Daniel, bound to one of the chairs, panic in his eyes. The good doctor would have to wait.

Ivanhoe threw a high driving punch, Spike caught it and twisted his arm out of the way, using the momentum to get him away from the controls. Sent staggering, Ivanhoe flashed a snarl at Spike. “I should have known! There just wasn't something right about you two, Spiegel!”

Staying on guard Spike sidestepped cutting him off from rushing at Faye. “Little late for regrets, hacker-boy. You spoiled the contest, but the finale's just begun!”

Ivanhoe's hard eye gleamed over his fist. “You're askin' for it, I'm a champion kick boxer.”

Spike huffed a laugh. “Ya don't say, twinkle-toes.”

At the insulting name, Ivanhoe tensed and growled. He launched into a violent series of kicks. Warmed up from the dance round, Spike focused into tight blocking with his legs and arms. He kept to the defensive, drawing Ivanhoe around the room. Each strike had impact enough that a complete block wasn't possible, forcing Spike to compensate with deflections. Ivanhoe's mad glare betrayed confidence in his skills as he pushed Spike backward. Of course, Ivanhoe didn't seem to be aware that was a tactic. Spike kept his back to Faye ensuring there would be no tag-team play in this little match.

Close to the door, Ivanhoe suddenly ducked down and performed a leg sweep.

All this dancing had sharped Spike's reflexes in new directions. He adapted swiftly and leapt into the air. Reaching back he caught the throwing blade tucked up and under his shirt. At the apex of the jump, he slung it. Ivanhoe clearly, shocked by the sudden appearance of a weapon, pinwheeled backward, the blade buried itself into his shoulder. He shrieked, gripping his arm and darted for the door.

It was a dirty trick, one not likely to be legal in a kick boxing ring. But real world fights didn't play by rules.

Ivanhoe left a trickle of blood halfway across the lobby floor before Spike's heel caught the center of his back in a flying kick. The transfer sent him tumbling, face grinding across the carpet. Landing on his feet, Spike threw his weight on top of Ivanhoe's chest as his target attempted to turn over into a makeshift defense. Spike pressed his forearm against the man's throat and snarled, “Some champion. Just a pain in the ass small fry.”

“Don't! Backup … ” Ivanhoe fought to speak around the choking pressure, his hands tried to grip Spike's arm, blood seeped from around the buried blade. “Bucktoll coming … ”

“Shut it, you just scored the grand prize. A ticket to the ultimate resort with a real captive audience. Bet they'll love watching you dance in prison.” Glancing for something to secure him with, Spike couldn't find anything at hand in the lobby. Though he was glad they hadn't skidded further. He looked up to find they were inches from knocking over what looked to be a priceless vase. With a backhand, Spike knocked him out. As he grabbed the back of Ivanhoe's shirt, he realized, a bit too late, that numerous people now stood gawking at the top of the stairs.

_Busted_.

To his relief, Fernando was among them. He grabbed the cording from a decorative drape and handed it to Spike. He nodded his thanks and swiftly tied Ivanhoe's wrists behind his back. Once he had that done, he stood to drag the mark back to the bridge when Uhrikha tumbled through the door landing prone and rather unconscious. Faye had tenderized her face rather thoroughly. She now stood in the door cracking her knuckles.

Spike laughed. “Aw Faye, looks like she may need another plastic surgeon.”

“That bitch asked for an ass kicking.”

“You kicked more than her ass.”

“Tackle me on the dance floor, hah!” Faye grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back onto the bridge. “Lucky she has a bounty on her head, or it would be a body bag for her!”

Faye untied Daniel and used the binding to tether the Bruusikhov's out of way, while Spike went to the controls. Worriedly he glanced back at the unconscious crew. The console was on lockout. All save for the communications. At least they had that much. Something told him that the access codes had been changed by the speed-hackers. Even if the crew were awake, they wouldn't be likely to break in. The screen flashed acceptance of a course change. Change to where? This wasn't good.

Daniel practically hyperventilated looking between the two of them. “You're … you're … you're … bounty hunters!”

As Faye joined Spike in trying to unlock the controls, eyes never leaving the console, he muttered distractedly, “Yup. We sure are. And currently we have a very serious problem. This ship has been hijacked. Damn, they were thorough.” A second later he kicked a call through to the _Bebop_. When Jet answered he responded in a rush, “We've got a problem, pard. We're wrangled the Bruusikhovs, but they've locked out the bridge controls. We could really use Ed—”

Jet's tense voice broke over the com, _“Take a number! I wish you guys were on the ship right now. I could really use the firepower!”_

Spike jerked upright as something struck him. He blurted, “Bucktoll! Faye, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't there a bounty out under that? Wasn't it connected to a smuggler ring?”

“Yeah, there was. But no one knew where they were.”

Spike grinned at Ivanhoe's unconscious body. “I think Jet just found them! And that's a two-fer score for the _Bebop!_”

“_Not if I get taken out! Shit! Ed, come on! You can hack faster than this!”_

“_Hush! Ed is working!”_

Spike leaned forward trying to glimpse the battle he could only hear through the com. His hand caught the micro-drive embedded in part of the comb, the device left on the console. He held it up and shook his head. It was intact, and he bet he knew what was on it. Glimpsing the still petrified doctor he sighed. That would have to wait for once this was all over and Ed had time to crack the code, there was no way they hadn't buried it in nonsense. For now he and Faye had to find some way to un-hack the ship controls or hell knew where they were going.

“Damn well wish I was there. Could use a dog-fight about now.”

“_Grrr! I don't like how close we're getting to you!”_

The blips on the radar scudded off to the port side, nail-biting close. Out the bridge window they could see a dark ship tangling with the familiar rusted _Bebop._ That was the only thing that kept the smugglers from docking into the _Golden Calf_. Spike felt powerless to do anything as even if they had controls, cruise ships didn't have plasma cannons as optional equipment.

“_There!”_ Ed's all too cheery voice broke through. _“The smuggler-bugglers won't be expecting this!”_

“_What are you doing? Why is the hanger opening? ED!” _

The alarm in Jet's voice ran a chill in Spike's veins. He leaned forward and cried out, “She better not be taking the  _Swordfish_ for a joyride again!”

“_Special delivery! Hehehe!”_

But what emerged from the hanger bay wasn't a ship. Instead it was six rather small metallic objects jettisoned on a collision course with the smuggler ship.

“What the … ?” Faye gasped.

Wide-eyed, Spike blurted, “Are those—no way!”


	27. Session 27

_ **Session 27** _

“What are you doing? Why is the hanger opening? ED!” Jet stared in horror amidst the assault of the klaxon. He could only spare a glance to the child laying over her computer on the floor, goggles on as if engaged in a dogfight on the screen. When the smuggler ship had tripped the alert system, Jet had given her a command to hack the ship. He hadn't meant the _Bebop_!

“_She better not be taking the _Swordfish_ for a joyride again!” _Spike's voice crackled over the com.

Nor the other MONOcrafts! Oh hell, Jet would never hear the end of this if Radical Edward ran that racket again. He'd be rebuilding the MONOcrafts til doomsday if she pulled that one!

On floor, Ed's hands shot up into the air. “Special delivery! Hehehe!”

Jet waited for one of the ships to launch. But that didn't happen. It was almost anticlimactic. Instead six rather small metallic objects jettisoned on a collision course with the smuggler ship.

“_What the … ?”_ Faye gasped.

Spike blurted, _“Are those—no way!”_

A connection from the smuggler ship rang through. _“Hehe … if you guys aren't gonna take this seriously, we can just bury you, Bucktoll style! We came prepared. Looks like you guys didn't so you takin' fire! Yeeeehaw!”  
_

Jet glanced at Ed, she gave him a thumbs up. Across her screen, along with the command prompt window, six more video windows showing the steady approach toward the smuggler's ducts caught his attention. He turned and squinted. Were those … the six pack! There was no doubt. Six chicken sized, metallic feathered, robotic compys of mass destruction headed their way toward the vessel, latching on and infiltrating.

Jet grinned at the cocky pilot on the screen sporting a bandanna and an old western style hat. “I really don't think you're prepared for this one, buster.”

“_If you had weapons on that rusty tub you would have used them by now.”_

The compys had entered the starboard side, about halfway along the cargo ship. It would take a bit. So just a matter of killing time. Jet rubbed his chin. “Maybe. But have you ever read the Art of War?”

*

Faye drummed her nails on the panel. “We're still locked out.”

Glancing up from the screen where Spike had typed in no less than a dozen attempts at getting back in, he pulled his finger back and whinced. “Shit, now I gotta start over.”

“This isn't rocket science.”

“You ever thought about how ridiculous that old saying is? We're in a spacecraft.” 

As Faye was about to respond, Jet's voice crackled over the com,  _“Maybe. But have you ever read the Art of War?”_

Spike rolled his eyes, muttering so the com wouldn't pick up his voice, “Here we go again, another misquote by Jet. Any guesses as to what it will be this time?”

Faye mused. “The wise warrior avoids the battle.”

“That works, since he isn't leaving the ship, like usual.” Spike glanced at her and grinned. “I'm impressed, you didn't just steal my copy, you've been reading it.” Turning back to the screen he continued typing. “I would quote this one: In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”

“With you everything is chaos.”

Spike shrugged. “It works. Unlike that code. Fuck. I hate this hacker shit. I have no idea what they used.”

Across the control panel, Doctor Adenine still stood with his jaw hanging loose. He seemed utterly incapable of movement. Additionally, it hardly came as a shock to Faye when she glanced to the knocked-out door frame that it was crowded with the elite couples, the Tutfords and Espisitos at the front. She even spied that Gunter Keller guy sweating bullets at the edge.

Fine. Let them all stand by, useless. This is what cowboys did, instead of being paralyzed by a little danger. A proud smile flashed on her face as she turned back to the panel, in another time she would have conned the Tutfords into paying to have the ship unlocked, pretending they knew what the heck they were doing. But the truth was, this level of coding was not in her nor Spike's wheelhouse.

Spike pounded his fist on the panel. “Wrong again. Maybe we shouldn't've knocked them both out.”

“Not like they would have told us anyway. That's their only bargaining chip. What have you tried?”

The com blinked a new connection, this time from the _Bebop's_ living room computer. Who the hell could that be? Jet was in the cockpit, Ed was on Tomato. Which just left … Faye picked it up. “Ein?”

“_Bark bark!”_

“Just what we need, commentary from the mutt.” Faye rolled her eyes.

On the screen, where Ein battered furiously at the keys, a string of odd characters spilled out. “Uhhh Spike?”

“I'm a little busy, Faye!”

“No... look at this. Is it just me or this code?”

“What?” A glance at that screen meant leaving the one he had been typing in. Spike's eyebrows shot up as he stared at it. “You're right, that is code. What the … uhh, Faye, read that to me.” He shifted back to the screen and erased the old string, clearing it.

“Wait a second, you're going to hack a ship's controls by entering code from a damn dog? Spike, have you lost your last nerve?”

“Seen and done stranger. Now read.”

Faye read the seemingly nonsensical string character by character until Ein's pawing stopped. Behind the wall of text the smiling corgi winked at her.

When silence stretched, Spike stared at the lengthy string. “That's it?”

“Yes, that's the whole thing.”

“Here goes.” Spike closed one eye and hit the key. A moment later his jaw dropped. “We're in. We actually have the bridge back.”

Faye stared at Ein's wriggling body in the screen window as he hopped back and forth between his front paws. Across the screen the letters spilled, _“W-E-L-C-O-M-E.”_

A nervous laugh escaped Faye's throat. “Ein's a good boy,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “and I am never stealing his food again.”

“Confirmed, the lockout is gone.” His brow wrinkled as he looked down the whole mass of controls. Panels of buttons, knobs, levers, and screens.

“Uhh, have you ever flown a ship this big before?”

Spike scratched his head. “I flew the _Bebop _a couple times.”

“One of those you managed to crash!”

“Hey! We ran out of fuel, that time wasn't my fault!” He shrugged, staring blankly at the controls. “Still, I admit, this is a bit more than I am used to. There has to be a way to recall the original autopilot course.”

She crossed her arms. “And you have no idea.”

His head sunk lower.

“_Bark bark!”_

Faye glanced at the screen where Ein furiously battered the keys. “Well, this worked once, ready Spike?”

“Taking direction from the mutt. Yep, just another low bar in my life.”

*

The cocky captain tugged on the brim of his hat.  _“You cowboys are about to get owned. Heh, we got a massive bulkhead blasting missile loaded. You can't evade us forever, old man!”_

They were right. The ship had already sustained a number of solid hits. She wasn't handling the same. Jet glimpsed Ed's smile growing ever more devious. Her hands wrung together. On more than one of the vid-screens people appeared. Several of the compys peered through the vents to the bridge. On another a compy reached forward, connecting a wire-pinch. At that moment, Ed went to work, fingers flying. Jet lit a cigarette. “On the contrary, buckaroo. We have you right where we want you.”

“_Bullshit, you're just bluff—what the …”_

Over the com alarms blazed, lights blinked off and on at random, the engines to the smuggler ship cut off. It was a horror shit show.

“_I've lost aux-power, navigation, —crap there goes the engines! How the fuck are they doing this?”_

Jet just smiled. “Surrender now and we might be merciful.”

“_Screw you!”_

“Hey, this is all on you now. Ok, Radical Edward, all yours.” Jet leaned back in the chair, fingers laced behind his head. 

A chorus of screams erupted from the crew on other side of the com. Though the man vanished from the screen, all Jet had to do was glance at Ed's screen to witness the chaos as five of the compys darted around the bridge beneath the flash of lights chomping and slashing with their teeth and claws. Metallic screams and hisses mixed with the frantic human cries. He laughed as grown men climbed up the walls trying to escape the agile little beasts. All futile. The beasts just followed, ramming their metal claws into the plating.

“_What the hell are these things? No! That's the life support, don't cut that wire! SHIT!”_

“_We're gonna die! We're gonna DIE!”_

“_What are they? What are these little savages!”_

Jet leaned back, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Ed rocked back and forth, smiling. “Ed found the program to hack their eyes. We see what the six pack sees.” A moment later she cringed, edged with a grin, like someone savoring a horror flick. “Hehehehe!”

“_Make them stop! Please... gah! My finger! Give it back!”_

“I'll make them stop.” Jet studied his fingernail. “Just surrender.”

“_Yes! Yes! We surrender!”_

Jet gestured to Ed. She blinked and placed a finger to her lower lip. “Uh oh. Ed forgot a signal to make them stop. Oops.”

Palming his face, Jet grumbled. “This is just great.”

*

Listening to the screaming chaos through the com, Spike shook his head. “What do you know, those little devils came in handy.”

Faye remarked dryly, “We've finally found a force more destructive then you.”

Ignoring her, Spike continued, “Well, looks like Jet is gonna have his hands full for a bit. That leaves us with notifying the ISSP for a little pick-up. Don't think we want to cart them back on this ship.” He typed through the message and sent it. “A good day for the _Bebop. _A double reward. One for the Bruusikhovs and one for the Bucktoll smuggler crew.”

He turned to find Faye, her eyes downcast as she gazed at the half of the comb in her hands. Spike held up the other end. “And we got Lansing's drive back with Adenine's info on it, once Ed breaks the code to get it out. Seriously, Faye. This was a good run, even though we got busted.”

She sank lower.

Spike lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know what this contest meant to you. I'm sorry, this sucks. Once again your chance to be a dancing queen got taken away.”

Faye snapped a glare down at the Bruusikhovs bound to a railing on the panel. In a flash she darted down towards Ivanhoe.

“Gah! Careful, you know we won't get the reward if—” Spike groaned into his hand as he watched Faye pull the blade from Ivanhoe's shoulder. “—he bleeds out. That _was_ in a critical vein.”

Brandishing the knife in front of Uhrikha, Faye trembled with fury.

Spike tore a strip from Ivanhoe's clothing and bound the wound enough to keep him from bleeding to death. Calmly he plucked the blade from Faye's hand. “Ok, enough of that. They're already headed for the ICU first thing, thanks to how much damage we did.”

At that Faye turned and pointed at the door lock on the floor. “Speaking of damage. That's a Coleblock special.”

Spike glanced while cleaning the blade off on Ivanhoe's attire before sheathing it back into its hiding place. “Yeah, so?”

Faye's eyebrow twitched. “The same model I saw you slip into back on Mars, less than a minute. Wasn't there one in that office building where the mark tried to hide inside?”

“Oh yeah, that was the same model.” Spike grinned, for a moment. A second later that was dashed away as Faye stomped toward him, fists brandished.

“You asshole! You didn't have to throw me, you just wanted to!”

He held up his hands trying to defuse the situation. But she had him. “I just wanted to see if that would actually work. Come on, Faye? When would I get another chance?”

“I swear I'll beat you black and blue! I am not a battering ram! You better sleep with one eye open!”

“Funny thing, I actually can.” Spike couldn't help it, he shouldn't have been laughing. But it was funny.

“_Hey guys! Knock it off. We got a problem.”_ Jet's voice broke things into an momentary truce. _“They shot out the engines. _Bebop_'s dead in space.”_

Spike and Faye both turned toward the Tutfords, the couple stood in the door doing perfect imitations of goldfish.

*

The bridge bustled with activity, the ship's crew back on their feet and grateful to find full control already restored. Content to be back in his normal casual attire, Spike lingered back, his roll in this affair largely finished now that the ISSP arrived to collecting the lot. Playing at a rich boy had it's moments, but he tired of all the rigid social-necessities. Now he could slouch in his own suit til his heart was content. Granted one of the perks of this happening on the cruise liner, no one wanted the guilty party aboard a second longer than needs-be. That put a rush order on things when normally a pick-up request would have been laughed at. Donnelley had come out from Ganymede to collect, along with several other officers. It came as no surprise that Jet greeted him and the two were laughing it up, chummy as ever. A pair of subordinate officers carried Ivanhoe's unconscious body off the bridge.

With her bare feet swinging in the air, Ed lay on her belly, Tomato in front of her as she typed away. Ein snuggled next to her, yawning as she plugged through the code in the middle of her sixth nonsensical song. Spike watched, idly smoking a cigarette, flanked by Daniel Adenine and Jim Lansing. Daniel's laptop remained at the ready nearby for the moment that Ed had the data. Both men looked like they were on a sitcom in a waiting room expecting a baby. Spike fought to suppress a laugh at the image.

“Are you sure about this, Spike?” Jim gasped.

Daniel finished, “This is just a kid.”

“Oh, Ed's not _ just _a kid. Trust me. She's almost got it.”

“Icccchhyyyyooo Eggo my leggo! Cracked the egg.”

Spike handed her the transfer cable. She plugged it in and in a few seconds threw her hands in the air. “Done!” Pulling the micro-drive out she tossed it to Spike. 

In a smooth flip, like he would do to a poker chip, he tossed it to Jim. “There we go. One clean prototype. And Daniel's got his info back. Better make that harder to get at. I mean we are supposedly talking saving a moon after all.”

Daniel picked up his laptop stared at the strange girl. “Thank you, Spike. This … well … you're all lifesavers. I hope you realize it.”

He laughed. “Yeah, til the bill comes due.”

“What?”

Half-lidding his eyes he inhaled a breath of smoke before replying. “It's a long story, one we've been told to shut up about. Anyway, it's all part of the job, our real jobs of course. Looks like Faye's little dip into the champagne dream life is at an end. Back to reality for the likes of us.”

Daniel looked uncomfortably at his own hands. No words left him, though he seemed to be searching for them.

Donnelley's booming laughter stole Spike's attention. “Oh Jet, we'll make sure they get a nice place in lock-up. At least all of them still have pulses, that's a first! Reward transfers already done. Say, this has gotta be one of the biggest scores your crew has made. What are you going to do with all those woolongs?”

Jet folded his arms. “First things first, once we make it back to Ganymede  _Bebop_ needs an overhaul. That will burn most of the reward.”

Spike glanced up just in time to see Faye enter, her hands on her hips. “Most of that reward is mine!”

“Uh, excuse me?” Spike held up a hand. “Who did most of the actual legwork?”

“No one is asking you, Spike.”

“Jet's right, we can't blow this wad on the ponies. A ship without engines catches no bounties.”

Faye's fists shook at her sides. “Oooooo! I made the call to do this, that's my bounty! Besides, I talked the Tutfords into allowing you classless buffoons a luxury ride back to Ganymede. Without me you'd be drifting back.”

Jet leveled his gaze and eyed Spike, “How did you do it, pard? Spend all this time with the grade A swindler?”

Chuckling, Spike spread his arms wide. “You know me, I don't share my secrets. Now come on, let's get settled in the new suite.”

Faye jolted upright. “Wait a minute … we're all in the same suite now?”


	28. Session 28

_ **Session 28** _

The screen on the _Bebop's _coffee table lit up with the broadcast. Flashing diamonds of light fluttered on the screen as the music blared. The logo for the Ihy Intergalactic Dancing Competition glittered in gold.

All around the living room, the six pack of compys chased one another, engaged in a wild game of tag. Qi paused in the middle of the couch, noted the program and peeped at the screen. A moment later, Shuĭ hopped up on the back of the couch and looked around, a bottle cap clasped in his jaws. On the floor in front of the couch a ruckus arose between Huŏ and Jīn, hissing as they tugged a large cooking spoon between them. Mù shifted back and forth fascinated by his distorted reflection in the perforated object. He stuck his claw through the hole and peeped, cocking his head. Tŭ peeped first at one, then the other. Getting nowhere with the ornery pair, he turned up to Qi. And squawked loudly.

Grabbing the bottle cap from Shuĭ, Qi threw it hard. The cap tinked off Huŏ and Jīn's muzzles, an instant disruption to their argument. They looked up only to find Qi pointing a metal claw at the screen. At that, the six pack settled onto the couch, beady eyes fixed on the program.

A man in a tuxedo waved. _“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the conclusion of the Ihy Intergalactic Dancing Competition. I'm your co-host Derrick Louis.”_

A lady in a sparkling dress appeared next to him. _“And I'm your co-host Veronica McNeil. This is quite an evening for us. After all, this year's competition was quite … unexpected.”_

“_Indeed. We had upsets and events that blindsided everyone. In fact, as I have heard, the Tutfords spent a long time in private discussion with judges trying to resolve a number of issues.”_

“_The largest of which was the horrific behavior of Phillip and Eliza Dunningham in what appeared to have been a display of poor sportsmanship. In the final round they rushed and tackled the current competing couple, Spike and Faye Sterling, ruining what would have been an award winning performance.”_

“_Of course the strangeness doesn't stop there. We'll start with the fact that the Dunninghams were not in fact who they claimed to be, right Veronica?”_

Mug shots of the two superimposed over the formal contest photos. The evidence of their cosmetic surgeries highly evident, they'd had complete facial reconstruction.

“_Nope, they were really Ivanhoe and Uhrikha Bruusikhov, two hackers with bounties on their heads. Their plan exposed, they proceeded to the bridge and hijacked the Golden Calf. Of course to everyone's shock the current leading couple, Spike and Faye immediately chased them down, broke onto the bridge, and apprehended them.”_

The screen flashed up photos of Spike and Faye at the contest.

“_Sadly during this event it was revealed that Spike and Faye were also aboard the ship on false pretenses. They were in fact not married, and are actually Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine, two bounty hunters from the ship _Bebop_. This meant their immediate disqualification despite what would have been a winning combination score.”_

“_The rules are the rules. There are no exceptions, remains the final decision of the panel. Though it is with deep regrets. However, since two finalist couples were disqualified, with one responsible for saving the ship, the Tutfords have decided that this year there will be no winner declared. The remaining legitimate couples in the final round will receive automatic entry into next year's competition, and no one will have the title of Returning Champions. Sorry Espositios.”_

“_Join us for the final night! For more dancing and interviews with the contestants. Even the crew of the now famous _Bebop_. Right Derrick? As I heard all of them are aboard. The Tutfords extended a grateful invitation to the full crew for a ride back to the Ganymede, as apparently their ship sustained damage during a firefight. That was a nail-biting experience. So join us for the most unusual closing night … ”_

The compys hopped up and down. Well, not every one of the crew had been invited on the _Golden Calf_.

*

The orchestra played their souls out, Spike approved of the current swing jazz selection. So did most of the crowd, as the dance floor was packed. Dressed in the black tux, he'd transferred the bejeweled stylized S lapel pin. After all, that had never been a lie, it truly was his initial. He intended to keep the bauble. Jet wore his cream colored suit with a long tie. It fit him well. But clearly he still looked imposing to the rest of crowd. Maybe it was the hardware as most of the folk here appeared _au naturale._ Well, Spike found a greater amount of elbow room since the final round anyway. No surprise there, the moment they learned he wasn't some blue blood rich boy the expected result happened. The elite kept their distance from the riffraff.

_That's gratitude for ya_. Never mind that the _Bebop _crew had come together and saved all of their swanky asses while they stood frozen in shock, thank you very much. Just another day.

Faye, attired to the nines in a halter dress and a fur stole, brazenly sported the sapphire hair comb along with the diamond tiara. Cygne and Maxine had repaired the comb, minus the micro-drive. At least they'd have one souvenir. Ein padded around the deck on freshly pedicured paws with a black bow tie above his collar. That certainly drew glances, no other pets had been permitted. But the frosting on the cake … Ed pranced around the dance floor spinning pirouettes on her bare feet. Cygne had convinced the hyperactive teen to at least wear a dress. It was a simple t-shirt style with a waistline and full skirt that flared when she spun. Colorful panels in bright swirls formed the skirt, befitting her wild personality. How Cygne had tossed it together in such short notice, no one knew. But at least Ed wasn't in shorts and a loose t-shirt.

She laughed, running at Spike full force, arms forward. “Swing! Ed wants to fly!”

He caught her hands and spun her in a circle, letting her go in a high-swing toss. Both smiled broadly as she came back down into his waiting hands in time with the music.

“Weeeee! Ed wants it again! Swingswingswing!”

Rolling his eyes, Spike repeated it. Of course this was the fifth time in this song alone. “I never should have started this.”

“Hehehe hehe! Ed is flying! Weeee!” Her arms stretched out as she screamed with delight.

Polite company did not seem to be amused. The exuberant display drew quite a pronounced response from the people throwing disgusted looks at the jubilant child. Spike ignored them, giving Ed another flight, while Jet and Faye tapped along with the music.

As the piece ended, Ed's feet landed on the floor and she giggled. “Spike had fun playing double-O-Spike.”

He ruffled her hair. “Yeah, a bit. But frankly, I'm glad it's over. I prefer just being plain old me.”

“Spike person looks hot in a tuxedo. Faye-Faye says so.” She pointed.

Faye fwapped her stole over Ed's eyes and huffed.

Lighting a cigarette, Spike chuckled. “Well, nobody get used to it. I got my own style, and this dapper shit ain't it.”

Jet squinted an eye. “Don't think I could used to you like that, pard.”

“Me neither. Too expensive for my taste. You know how often I get shredded.”

Faye rolled her eyes. “There is no way Spike could maintain the cost of such a wardrobe. Suits like that are hardly the cheep stuff he lives in.”

Spike lifted a shoulder and chuckled. “It's called a timeless classic.”

“It's called lazy.” She challenged. “After everything I tried to teach you, you still have no sense of fashion.”

Casting a glance around the room at all the excessive finery, he smirked. “Eh, I can live without it.”

Carlos and Roberta Esposito sauntered by, a sour expression on their faces. Roberta flashed a fan as if to push away the air they breathed. “Look dear, it's that non-couple that spoiled everything.”

Faye waved a few fingers through her stole and smiled a little too friendly. “Look, it's the poor-sport-previous-champions. So sorry you lost the title this year.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “It's all your fault.”

“Really?It's not like **we** rushed another couple mid-routine and tackled them. I think you mean those jerks who got hauled off for theft, illegal hacking, and hijacking the ship. We're the ones who actually stopped them.”

Spike laid a hand on Faye's shoulder and added, “Good thing we never officially finished, our combined score would have buried yours.”

Carlos wrinkled his nose at Spike. “How can you seriously address me now that you've been exposed as a fraud? Lower class piece of space trash.”

Quick on the draw, Faye folded her arms, “You two came over here. There is a huge dance floor. Why don't you go find somewhere you are welcome?”

Ed climbed up Spike's back and clung over his shoulder, adding, “That'll be a long search. No one likes them.”

That was the final clincher, they moved off with their noses in the air.

“Too bad we can't come back and beat them next year.” Faye pouted for a moment. “Well, we could. All we'd have to do is … ”

“Forget it, Faye.” Spike wriggled his ring-free fingers in the air. “I'm not marrying you for real. There are other contests, if you really want. I might consider it, so long as we can just be ourselves.”

“Be serious, who would want to marry you for real?” Faye groused.

Ed hugged Spike from behind. “Ed would marry Spike-person.”

He blanched and pried her off. “Uhhh, no. No one is marrying Spike—erf me. Ok? I'm not interested.” When Ed pouted he shook his head. “No offense, but you're too young kiddo.”

“When Ed is older?”

Spike palmed his face. “Let's just drop this, alright? I'm a bachelor for life, is that so wrong?”

Jet guffawed and threw an arm over Spike's shoulder. “Now that is a picture—you in some domestic lifestyle. Spike Spiegel, ex-bounty hunter, now homemaker. He cooks, he cleans, he even folds the linens! Hahaha!”

“Linens? What are those?” He gawked. “Wait a minute, Jet. What's that supposed to mean?”

“You can borrow my apron, which you constantly poke fun at.”

“Errrfff!”

Even Ein got into it, dashing around his legs and yapping.

Spike glanced up. “Oh great, don't look now, here come those announcers.”

Sure enough Derrick and Veronica sauntered up with camera and sound staff in tow. Derrick smiled too wide. “And look who have here, the unexpected guests of the _Golden Calf. _The crew of the_ Bebop._ Now, you are actually all full time bounty hunters, is that correct?”

Faye leaned toward the mic and smiled into the camera. “That's correct. We had truly hoped to end this one a little more undercover, but circumstances didn't permit us any subtleties.”

Jet rumbled, “They rarely do.”

Both Spike and Ed snickered.

Veronica piped in, “It seems like such an odd career for anyone of a refined nature. How does one get into bounty hunting?”

Jet blurted out waving his cybernetic hand, “Career change due to injury. Had ship, will chase bounties. Seemed to work.”

Spike added around his cigarette, “Needed something to occupy my time other than crash at bars.”

Ed waved a hand in the air excitedly. “Edward wanted to leave Earth and get souvenirs!”

Ein hopped up and down on the floor barking until Ed lifted him up. He grinned and licked the camera lens, to the dismay of the cameraman who had to clean it with his shirt.

Meanwhile Faye twitched at all of their responses. At last she glared them into silence before turning to the camera with a smug smile. “Saving others from less-desirable creeps is the noble thing to do.”

Spike and Jet burst into laughter, slapping eachothers backs. “That's a good one, Faye!” Jet managed to choke out, “She does it for the money!”

Faye blushed bright red and glared at them. “Living with these two is not for the fainthearted!”

Derrick blinked. “So, it must be hard being in charge.”

“I—”

“Faye.” Jet stepped forward, arms folded. “The fibbing stops here.” He stared at the camera and pointed a thumb at himself. “I'm the captain of the ship and the leader of this crew.”

Veronica looked at her notes. “And according to a witness, Doctor Adenine, there was a dog who was instrumental in breaking the code and getting the bridge controls back?”

Ein wriggled in Ed's hands, panting with a smile. “Bark bark!”

Spike scratched his hair. “Uhhh yeah. About that … you see the doc was a bit stressed out. So he didn't really know what he was seeing. Ed's our computer master.”

Ed blinked. “Ed wasn't—”

Jet clamped a hand over her mouth and grinned. “A lot happened in a very short time. Chaos as usual.”

Fortunately the interview dwindled swiftly. The co-hosts excused themselves and wandered off to more well-spoken couples.

The crew lingered by a table, drinking and idling away the time. Not very often that they got to savor the finery in life. While most of the personal servants were not allowed, it couldn't be overlooked that Fernando and Cygne were gracing the dance floor. When the couple glanced their way, Spike and Faye both raised their glasses in a toast.

In a brief pause of the music, a whisper rolled through the crowd as Morella came to the microphone placed at the front of the orchestra. She waved out to everyone. “I've been granted the privilege to sing for you once again, to reprise the song that had been previously interrupted. Not only that, but would you all please clear the dance floor?” She waited as everyone moved to the sides.

Morella smiled. “For the few years I have been married it was requested that I fill a role expected of me. Thanks to two very special people I found the courage to step back into the limelight again. Now with Jim's blessing.” She gestured towards him. “I have always loved to sing. And I didn't realize how much I missed it until Spike and Faye made their daring request.”

A spotlight fell on them. They blinked up into it. Spike had not expected anything more, considering how busted they were. After all, the bill for the door had yet to be settled.

“Even though they have been technically disqualified, it does nothing to eclipse their skills as gifted dancers. This was my request to the Tutfords as a thank you to those who risked their lives to save all of ours. Please welcome to the floor, the couple that changed everything this year, Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine.” Morella held her hand out.

Spike turned to Faye and with a little flourished bow held out his own hand. “May I have this dance?”

Discarding her stole in Ed's waiting hands, Faye took Spike's and let him lead her to the center. There the music began. A reprise of _Never Enough_ with Morella's voice soaring to the heavens with the swell of the orchestra. Spike and Faye didn't reprise their routine. They simply danced. Comfortable in one another's embrace, they danced. Soft smiles on both their faces, they had the floor to themselves while everyone else watched with a mixture of expressions from gratitude to disdain. Spike stared through them all, let them think what they wanted, not like he could alter their opinions. Not even saving their lives was enough to change some of their minds.

“Spike?” Faye rested her head under his chin. The scent of her orchid perfume filled the air.

“Mm hmm?”

“Why are you such a jerk when you can be such a gentleman?”

He chuckled. “It's the greatest con of my life, Faye. You really don't want to know why. Just enjoy it while it lasts … dancing queen.”

*

Faye lounged in the poolside chair, a mango margarita in hand. She could not ignore all the wayward glances her way. Well, she had taken quite some time to select her smokey rose purple strapless bikini. It fit like a glove, covering precisely what needed to be covered for modesty and not too much beyond that.

With the festivities over, many enjoyed the leisure time on the long trip back to Ganymede via non-hyperspace. The pool had become popular, either for simply lounging poolside or enjoying the water. After a rather insane morning in their suite, not at all to be unexpected as the guys had repeatedly attempted to disrupt her bathroom time, she was relieved at the suggestion for this activity. It left her the chance to stretch out and relax while the rest of those lunkheads splashed in the pool.

There they were. Spike in a pair of blue and neon green board shorts diving into the deep end. Jet bobbed around in a pair of red tropical printed swim trunks, she had to wonder if that arm of his would rust, while Ed sat on his shoulders laughing. She had on a brightly striped one piece. The child's ruckus was enough to draw attention, however Ein paddling around in the pool drew outright scorn.

Faye watched through half-hooded eyes as the Vanderleer's tried to summon security to remove the “Flea-bitten mongrel” from the pool. She smiled the moment the security guard replied, “What flea-bitten mongrel? All I see is the Tutfords' honored guests.”

She muttered to herself before taking a sip, “A little dog hair never hurt anyone.”

“Certainly not.”

She glanced up to find Jim smiling at her, gesturing to the lounge chair at her side. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

He sat down, a frosty beer in his hand. “Rather surprised you're not out there with them.”

Faye watched as Jet bobbed in the water with Ed's feet in his hands. He launched her into the air with a tremendous splash just as Spike resurfaced. He sputtered and gave her a smirk before swimming after her in an impromptu game of water tag. It forced a smile on Faye's face. “A refined lady such as me.”

“ … is an odd fit on that ship.” Jim raised a shoulder. “Seriously, having met the rest of them, I am confused. I could tell you weren't acting.” He gestured to the people on the sides of the pool. “This is a society you were raised in. Unlike … your partner?”

“Spike? Yeah, well, you have no idea what I went through trying to teach that clueless ass to blend in.”

Jim cocked his head. “I take it that unlike you he isn't from … uhhh … our class?”

She took a sip of her drink and sighed. “None of them are. We're just the result of one collision after another. Somehow … we became …” her voice faded for a moment as she searched for the word, it came slowly “ … family.”

Out in the pool, Ed balanced on Spike's shoulders before leaping into a cannon ball. It left both Spike and Jet in a scramble to cover their faces from the resulting wave. A moment later Ein paddled into Ed's arms barking excitedly. She flung him into the air and the little sausage dog's paws flailed before he tipped nose down, plummeting like a missile. All of them, were laughing. At ease for once. Given how often they'd been just barely scraping by, it was a sight to see. Not a care and enjoying each others company.

“The girl, whose kid is she?”

“None of ours, if that's what you're wondering. The little imp conned her way onto the ship. I shudder to think of either Jet or Spike ever having a child.”

Jim blinked, obviously struggling to find a reply and failing.

Faye's voice trembled a bit as spoke, “It's odd. But there are times when I'm with them that I can't stand how crass those morons can be. But … when I left, all I wanted to do was come back. Back to their chaos, their adventure, … back to the place we call our home.”

Jim looked toward where the ship rode in tow alongside the _Golden Calf_, visible through the large glass windows. “I can't picture actually living on such a small ship. I mean, all four of you?”

“Five.” She pointed at Ein. “_Bebop's_ our whole world. And even after this reminder of what my life used to be … I wouldn't want it any other way.”

Raising his beer glass, Jim smiled. “Well, thanks to you guys I don't have to look for another way. Dad never need know that prototype went missing.” He nodded toward President Brookridge lounging by the side of the pool. “Kind of surprised he didn't go back to Europa on that transport with Dr. Adenine.”

Faye glanced and snorted a laugh. “Oh, be serious. A plague is running rampant, you think an official is going to be there? Bet he's got another trip booked after this to stay as far away as possible. Sadly, I have to admit Spike was right, in that regard. But then, I guess a guy like him would know.”

Jim blinked. “Was he in government?”

Realizing her near slip, Faye shrugged a shoulder. “Not directly. But he used to have some influence there, in a round-about way.”

A staff member came up beside Faye, “Pardon me, Ms. Valentine, but there seems to be something wrong with your account.”

She waved him off. “There should be plenty.”

“It was declined.” He handed her a pad with a rather long list of charges. From the contest entry fee, their lodgings and those of Fernando Cygne and Maxine plus their costume and make-up fees billed to them, the room service charges, spa treatments, the charges for the extra large suite for the remainder of the voyage, the fee to repair the bridge door …

Faye's teeth ground.

The reaction had attracted the attention of the guys. Clinging to the edge of the pool near-by, Jet clicked his tongue and remarked to Spike, “Just how much did you treat yourself out of her account?”

“Not as much as I could have.” Spike rubbed his chin. “Which means she pretty much blew that fortune herself.”

Jet glanced at Spike. “How much was all that clothing worth?”

Flipping around with his back against the side of the pool, Spike rested his elbows on the edge of the pool and laughed. “That was a lot of costume changes, come to think of it. Wouldn't it be funny if the mutt's bow tie broke the bank?”

Faye glanced through the list, and sure enough—the charge for Ein's special bow tie was the first to bounce. “Come on, guys. The bounty was my idea in the first place! And you'd never have been aboard if it weren't for me.”

Jet and Spike exchanged glances, Spike gave a small nod prompting Jet to met the servant's gaze. “We'll get it covered soon as we're back in the room.”

“Very good, Sir.” The man smartly moved off.

Spike closed his eyes. “Ok Jet, pay up.”

“I admit, you were right when you bet she'd blow the whole wad on this escapade.”

Faye sat upright. “You bet on me?”

Spike grinned over his shoulder. “Hey, you know me, when I see a sure bet … ”

Ein padded up beside Faye's chair and shook off a spray of water. “Woof!”

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Though this swinging adventure is at an end, I'm not! Join me for the next chaos ridden adventure of the crew in Bebop Redemption. This one started a broader story arc. Hope you were paying attention to the details.
> 
> SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY!

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I tend to string all my fanfictions into a single 'verse, so this one references events in some of my previous Bebop misadventures. The six pack of robotic compys hail from the adventure Acid Rock Riot, which happened right before this. Spike's swing-dance history was established in Dragons of the Darkwave 1. Throughout my works I have fleshed out Spike's missing chapters from what little the show revealed. In this one I'll be giving the reawakened Faye a chance to examine her past. Hang with me here, this should be a crazy fun ride incorporating the Bebop crew's typical luck—and less … umm … physically shredding then the action adventure through the death trap that was the asteroid version of Jurassic Park. If you've ever wanted to read about Faye and Spike submerged neck-deep in the upper crust of society struggling to syncopate on a dance floor while trying to sniff out a pair of rats—this will be your jam.


End file.
